


I feel a weakness...

by xdarlingnickyx (Sonny)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-29
Updated: 2011-08-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 05:43:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/246864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/xdarlingnickyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen is a shy 32 year-old virgin and Jared is the "player" who spots him and decides he wants to pursue him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I feel a weakness...

**Author's Note:**

> Based off this prompt at spnkink_meme :
> 
> I feel like this is shamefully unkinky to be posting here, but whatever. Hand-holding kink?
> 
> Jensen is incredibly shy, so when he sees the tall, grinning, incredibly hot guy in his place of work (bookstore, coffee shop, library, wherever) he doesn't even think about trying to start a conversation. But the guy, Jared, keeps coming back and chatting with Jensen at the register and being friendly, so Jensen can't help it if he develops a massive crush like a preteen girl. Of course he doesn't think Jared likes him back, since all he can do when Jared is talking to him is blush and stutter and avoid eye-contact.
> 
> One night when Jensen is out with his friends he sees Jared at the bar, and freaks out a little bit. Once they realize that Jared is the person Jensen has been crushing on for weeks, they laugh at him and push him towards the bar to say hi. Jensen isn't sure how he makes it all the way over without losing his nerve, but as always when Jared turns to smile at him he becomes completely incapable of talking like a normal person. Luckily Jared doesn't mind, and chats with him like usual. Then he asks if Jensen wants to meet his friends, and after Jensen nods he takes Jensen by the hand to lead him through the bar. Jensen is both exhilarated and terrified that Jared is holding his hand, and can't stop blushing and smiling. Jared doesn't drop his hand the whole time he's talking with his friends, or when Jensen's friends come over and make Jensen introduce them, and it's pretty much the best thing that's ever happened to him.
> 
> Jared, for his part, thinks Jensen is the cutest person ever. He loves the way Jensen blushes and stutters, and can never resist visiting him all the time at work. When Jensen actually came up to him on his own in a bar, Jared couldn't resist grabbing his hand. Now he has Jensen sitting beside him, practically beaming and still holding his hand, and it's taking everything he's got not to just grab him and cuddle him. Of course, the way Jensen keeps looking at him, he might not mind.
> 
> Sorry this is so detailed, that's just how I see it playing out in my head - feel free to change any it. Basically I just want super-shy Jensen crushing hard on Jared, who thinks he's totally adorable, and prolonged hand-holding. Preferably the night ends with a kiss and scheduled date.

 

 

 **I feel a weakness...**

Jared is alone in the building at this hour of the morning. He likes it this way as he can act as if he's the only person in the world—awake and alert at the start of a new day. It's also dark enough to be under the guise of shadows, except with the blue hue that will eventually color once the sun rises. He thinks he'll step into the tiny break-room and be able to pour himself a scalding cup of coffee, but he had forgotten that his office secretary had attempted to remind him, several times, to purchase the special blend of coffee beans they like to devour, so he could get the usual discount.

Of course he had let it slip his mind last night as he had stayed too long inside his cubicle, making random phone calls on a particular court case he was working on. Once a promising attorney in a well-known law firm in the city, Jared Padalecki had ended up trading flash and prestige for substance and honor. Not that he'd graduated with his law degree to start his career off with the idea he'd end up eventually specializing in child advocacy issues, but he liked where he was because he was back to loving his job again, working his fingers to the bone. Even though it's twice the headaches, less monetary wastefulness and gives him zero chances of a fast-paced social life, he's finally got one corner of his life in near perfection. He can look at himself in the bathroom mirror without hating himself any longer.

His family would love for him to settle down, buy a home and raise a family, but Jared knows he's not remotely ready yet. He's unsure if he'll ever be ready to choose one single person to spend the rest of his life with. He doubts he'll find “The One” simply because he enjoys the social-sexual game he plays with getting sex and companionship on his own time and then able to walk away. His job doesn't allow him an ideal life with someone waiting at home—his lonely, still-empty apartment. He does fantasize about someone special, but he's a realist. There isn't another man out there who can tolerate him every day. Some days Jared can't even tolerate himself.

Leaving the back office lights on, Jared re-locks the front double doors of the Murray, Welling & Associates Family Law Practice and he takes a leisurely stroll to the twenty-four hour grocer where he buys the office several bags of their favorite coffee, then he stops at a popular coffee-house where he orders a large soy mocha latte for himself and a sweet treat he's indulging in since he's figured out a way to win his case. He crosses the empty stretch of street to head toward a series of benches lining the tiny cobblestone park in the middle of downtown. He's not only going to enjoy his caffeine fix, but he's going to dig into a decadent pastry he bought—called a “breakfast blast”; that's like a cinnamon bun on acid, caked in powdered sugars and drowning in some concoction of melted butter, maple syrup and something that makes it solidify like icing once it cools. He knows everything fatty will go to his thighs and ass, but he's willing to suffer the avalanche of sweetness landing on his tongue.

Even as Jared nears the benches, he notices a familiar face occupying a spot beside the one he usually sits on. The elderly man is harmless and Jared has always enjoyed conversations with older people as he values their advice and life lessons. He has two downfalls with being an authentic cutthroat lawyer...old folks and children. He's got too big of a bleeding heart for the downtrodden and hopeless. Every morning since he had started working at Chad's practice, he has loved chatting a few minutes away with Elias, “Eli”, and is pretty impressed with the older man's sharp wit and attention to details of his past memories. Eli does look too young to be eighty-six, but the cane and the gnarled hands show differently. These moments are sometimes the brightest and happiest part of Jared's day.

Although, lately, Eli's been worrying Jared to a degree of sincere concern. Eli has talked about himself but never about family, and several times now Jared's been sucked into this tale-of-woe concerning Eli's young grandson. The stories that pour out—just enough information to spark curiosity—are almost fantastical. Like a modern-day Cinderella, without the wicked stepsisters, only an amped-up truly selfish and sinister stepmother. The past two weeks Eli's tales have become more intense; Jared admits he's felt a little more eager each day to sit down with the old man to know a little bit more of the story.

Every hour they spend together in the early mornings, Jared allows Eli to open up at a comfortable, gradual pace; Jared feels like he can actually—maybe, probably—do something constructive for Eli or Eli's grandson. He, of course, wants no praise or fanfare; he doesn't even want to handle the case himself as he has enough on his plate as it is. But Jared knows people and he has many old friends still working in and outside of the courts that offer the help that Jared knows he's too swamped to give. He knows he won't short his clients nor will he short himself in being able to give of himself completely, but if he can send Eli or his grandson in the right direction then he feels he was able to be helpful to a degree without becoming too overwrought and compassionate. Jared has a tendency to put himself in place of the children he often represents, knowing that if he feels exactly what they do, then he can be the kind of lawyer they need to represent them in a courtroom, facing their own parents or family members who mean then harm.

Sure enough, like clockwork, there sits Eli with his hands propped on top of his cane between his bowed legs as he leans forward with his spine stiff, like he's about to rise and return home, wherever that was.

As Jared drops down with a heavy sigh, he glances over to his left as he crosses a leg over his knee. He settles his plastic bag and container with the pastry beside him on the bench. “G'mornin', Eli.”

There's a soft grunt, maybe a grumble, and then Eli gives Jared a side-look. “You ever been overseas, son?”

“What?” Jared finally has a chance to take off the lid of his coffee and re-blends the mixture. “You mean, like, Europe, Asia or places like that?”

“Anywhere not this side of the hemisphere, if that makes it any clearer.”

“No. Not that I know of.” Jared's not being a tease, he has actually blocked out much of his early childhood, never wanting to revisit even though he's old enough to deal with the memories. He would rather not even stir the pot, because he knows emotional upheavals will never stop. “I did have a chance in my old job. But since we all bailed at the same time to form our own specialized careers inside my buddy’s firm, we can barely take care of our own lives here, much less think about international flights.”

“mmm...” Eli nods his head, then bows his chin to the top of his hands. “The sun rises different over there. Not sayin' I'm dumb and jus' 'cuz it's another country, it's somehow another sun—I mean that the air quality, the sky...” One concaved index finger tries to point to the lightening sky. “It gives off a difference that's palpable. No matter where I was stationed during the wars, I always made it 'portant to wake to see the rise of sunlight—jus' so's I could compare it to the last place I'd been.”

Jared can tell by Eli's changing features that it's more memorable and meaningful now than it had been back then. Maybe because life was different, life was dangerous and always balanced precarious on living the next morning or dying right where Eli slept. “Did you have one of your old Nikon's with you?” Jared has learned a good lesson of paying attention to the tiniest of details when it comes to conversation. The more mundane the detail, the more likely to impress the other person with how much you have been listening.

Eli groans, rolling his sharp light green eyes as he shifts his shoulders and shimmies to sit back on the bench-slats. “Yes, I did have two of them with me, for such occasions. By my third tour, I had to give both over. They were old, and in great need of repair. The particular brand of film I used didn't exist anymore.”

“—shame.” Jared sips at his coffee. He truly would have liked to have seen the contrasts of those places himself.

“My boy—my son...my gran'son's father—became a photographer.” Eli tends to reiterate, or exaggerate who the people were he talked on about, like Jared would forget or lose interest as he droned on. “A real popular one. Newsweek...Time....Life...”

Jared smiles as he nods his head, supplying the correct word Eli had trouble conjuring. “He was a photojournalist.”

“Uh, yeah—yes.” Eli becomes quiet again, staring ahead at the traffic moving at a snail's pace along the street a good yard away in the distance.

Jared can't ignore the silence, mainly because Eli looks a bit...flustered, like he's fading in and out of a functioning mind. Eli tends to open his mouth, not say a word, then closes his lips to lick them wet. It's a nervous tick Jared has picked up since they've started these random conversations; he once took an annex course—for shits-n-giggles—that swore to teach the most regular layman who had no special skills or training to learn how to listen to key words and focus on body cues and body language. Jared thinks it's the smartest thing he did in college that has paid off the most in his career. “What's kickin' 'round in your mind, ol'man?” It's a slight tease to Eli Jared has used before to get the discussion back on track. Eli's never offended, in fact...Eli thinks it's fair since he tends to use “boy”, “son” and sometimes “kid”, when he can't think of Jared's name fast enough.

“My boy—” Eli shakes his head, one of his hands squeezing both sides of his temples in the span of his fingers. “—well, my gran'son,” The old face wrinkles with worry. “I's like I been tellin' you, I wish I had-a-way of getting' him outta that house...or him away from her an'—maybe i's wishful thinkin' on my part, but I want him to stay with me, like before after my son—his father—pass'd.” He bowed his head in slight embarrassment. “I have such regrets in the years I stole from that boy...”

Jared's trying to focus, watching Eli's face and body, paying attention to words pouring out, but he's confused because Eli has used the endearment of “my boy” for both his son and his grandson. It's tough to figure out the difference. “I've been paying attention, Eli, but I'm still not sure what's going on, what you want done for him. Well, if you want anything done for him, because the help is there if you need it.

Eli's features break out in a fury. “You mean what shoulda been done for that boy when she hoodwink'd my son into handin' over everything to her—includin' my own gran'son?”

The way Eli talks about his grandson Jared has guessed him to be of school age, possibly a teenager in high school. Eli doesn't look a day over sixty-five, making his son old enough to have lived the kind of life Eli described, while having two marriages under his belt—a widower who married a younger woman. With Jared not taking any new cases, he's willing to poke at this lawyer who handled the grandson's case, or at the very least light a hot enough fire to get them going again.

“My offer still stands.” Jared pats his suit jacket for his wallet. “You got that card I gave you?”

“Yup.” Eli nods his head succinctly. “I's up on my daily peg board, right off the side of my door, so I see it when I leave my room.”

Jared smirks as he stares down then to the left, letting the quiet soak over them. Eli appears to become more and more incensed about something.

“I 'preciate you wantin' to help, son.” Eli settles a light touch to Jared's forearm on the bench's armrest. “But I'm afraid child services ain't gonna be much help now.” He waves his hand in mid-air as if to sweep the whole deal under the rug, though it seems to bother him greatly.

“Making a few calls won't hurt. They can direct you to someone who can help. At the very least, send a case worker to the home, catch her unawares.”

“eh, she's too sly for that mess.” Eli shakes his head, scrunching his face up with disgust. “I don' know how, but she'd somehow get that boy all googly-eyed and thankful for the meager scrapes she does give him. She'd put on a 'show' an' once they leave her alone with him...” He goes quiet, bowing his chin to chest as if he can't even say the words to what she would do to her stepson.

“He's not being abused, is he?” Jared doesn't know why he hadn't considered that to be a fact. “Emotional, mental or physical?”

“I's somethin', kid. Tha's what worries me most. She snake-charmed my son, so who's to say she hasn't been workin' on his boy, too. She never adopt'd him. Ain't like it'd be illegal in her sick mind to use some form of sex, or intimacy, to control him. Keep him under her thumb for her benefit. Same as she did my boy.”

“—jesus christ, Eli!” Jared shuffles about to dig out his cell phone. If the situation with Eli's grandson was that dire, he will definitely put in quite a few calls right this minute. “Hey, uh...watch my stuff, would ya'?” He pushes off the bench to walk away, in order to carry on the calls he's making privately. He doesn't want to cause Eli any extra worry or concern.

Eli narrows his gaze on the tall frame pacing away from him, along the cobblestone pathway; the expensive loafer shoe-tips kick haphazardly at loose rocks, then as they walk toward the edging of the path, they tap along the stone wall beside the manicured hedges. He watches the younger man's profile from a distance, curious to what type of a social life he takes part in. Eli's been out of touch with the generation of youth today, but from what he recalls of his grandson, there's a certain harken back to when a career takes over your world, and you have no time for love or romance, not even sex.

When Eli had moved into his son's home—the back in-law suite on the first floor, off the huge kitchen—it hadn't been too long before his grandson had tip toed into his room and confessed to him late one night that he liked his own sex. Never once thought about girls, but attracted to boys. At first stunned, Eli couldn't blame the poor boy since his father was a poor example of a father and a husband, much less not such a great care-giver. But the loss of his mother at such an early age hadn't given Eli's grandson time to really get to know what a good woman looked like, or smelled like or talked like. He only knew his unforgiving and relentlessly controlling stepmother.

What he was truly disgusted by was how oblivious his son was to how devious his second wife could be: how she had a penchant for grabbing his grandson's ass or how she would touch him in inappropriate ways that no parent should. She had thought Eli old and feeble, half out of his mind because of his small stroke, but he had witnessed enough to be concerned and continually worried. The stroke had made Eli weak, but he was grateful for his grandson sacrificing most of his growing up years to being his sole caretaker. Eli's son had passed away in another country, leaving the she-bitch in total control of not only his grandson, but the entire estate of his late son. She couldn't get rid of Eli fast enough, putting him in a home for the elderly where, bit-by-bit, he was getting back to his old self. Pretty soon Eli hoped to be in tip-top shape, ready to fight alongside his grandson to return him his birthright and get that evil, wicked woman the heave-ho.

Eli stands once Jared walks back over to the bench area. Eli shakes a bit, feeling his rickety bones creak, bend and move. “I gotta git, son. Time for my bus to arrive.”

Jared towers over Eli, settling his left arm around the hunched frame. “I'll have some better info for you tomorrow, Eli.” As they walk along the dissecting shorter cobblestone pathway that will lead them to the sidewalk, Jared looks down at Eli's bowed head. “I'm sorry for not taking you worry seriously. I'm afraid I've become a little jaded at times, a little burned out by all the traumas done to the young kids I represent in court.” He almost wants to cry as, again, Eli waves his hand in midair to sweep the concern and the guilt away with the wild winds.

Eli pats Jared's chest. “You've got a good heart, boy, which means you're already a better man than most.” They finally reach the bus stop, then stand almost side-by-side, but Jared steps back an inch to protect Eli's wobbly stance—like he'd brace him in a fall. “I didn't expect you to do much. I'm jus' an old man, ramblin' on with some nonsense.” He says this because it truly has been too late to do much of anything to help his grandson; it's set in stone by now. But Eli still has a speck of hope.

“We all can use a helping hand once-n-awhile. I'd be happy to do what I can to help your gran'son, or even start the ball rolling on something to get him temporarily out of her custody.” Jared's standing caddy-corner to Eli, not willing to leave him here alone until he sees him physically climb onto his bus.

Eli stares down at the end of the street, watching slow car traffic; this is the direction where his bus will show. “Do you like books, Jared?”

Jared perks up as he hears his name called, but furrows his brow in bewilderment. What a weird way to change the subject. “I like 'em enough. I don't get to read much. I use books for research in libraries, but I'm mostly reading documents and case files, background checks—that sort of thing.” He clears his throat as he realizes he's gone off a simple answer of a “yes” or a “no”. “I like to buy them to give them as gifts. I'm not very creative with presents, I'm afraid.”

Eli turns his head quickly, back to looking at Jared looming above him. His sharp light green eyes hone in on the laughing hazel looking at him with curiosity. “There's a nice bookstore—'bout a block or more down from your office. It has its own coffee shop. It opens at 7:15am, on the dot, every day. You should stop there when I can't make it here to sit with you and chat. Give you a change of pace from my ugly mug.”

Jared laughs heartily, causing Eli to let a small grin slip out on his lips, as well. As the transit bus pulls to a stop along the sidewalk, Jared places his huge hands on Eli's waist, then guides him toward the steps once the door opens to allow passengers on. Jared and the driver help Eli climb, since his arthritis has been locking his hips and knees early in the mornings. Once on board, Eli swivels back around to sit up front while giving Jared the universal sign language show of “thank you”.

As the door closes, Jared can only raise his hand and give out a small wave.

==&&==&&==

Eli doesn't show for the next two days. Jared's a little worried and kind of upset with himself, since he didn't bother to get any pertinent information about Eli. He was so preoccupied in doing the Good Samaritan routine, he forgot to be human and ask for Eli's last name or even a phone number of where he lived. By the third day, Jared takes Eli's advice and leaves the office to take that long, leisurely early morning stroll down to the one bookstore, a block down, that holds a coffee house. He's shocked the place is crowded for such a time of the morning, and he had been so close to it on a daily basis. He notices that the building is a rather enormous store front beyond the metal gate that keeps customers at bay from the books.

Where the coffee-house is there's racks of magazines, newspapers and a few random “sale” shelves of stacked books at bottom value prices. Some people peruse, but never buy; others seem to have bought and are now reading the material as they enjoy their morning jolt of caffeine and snack foods for breakfast. Jared notices that several people have their laptops out, so there's got to be a Wi-Fi signal boosting from somewhere in the building.

He gets in line behind the others, looking up at the coffee menu, posted high on the brick wall. The various choices were incredible, much more interesting and original—not to mention less expensive—than the popular coffee-houses arranged along the street. He makes his decision quickly, pondering whether to go old school, with his usual, or to simply be adventurous since this was a new place for him. For some god-forsaken reason, he decides to be adventurous.

He's only three people from the register, and lets his gaze roam the faces around him. Some he recognizes from downtown, some from working a block away and others were just total strangers. He spins to keep his gaze straight ahead, toward the employees working behind the counter; he notices that's what's been keeping some folks entertained. It's a dazzling show in of itself. They all were flying around the different counters, punching through the crowd of patrons with two registers open. Not only did they look like they sold pastries and breakfast treats, but they had the capacity to become a small deli, selling homemade pies, cakes and tarts.

Jared attempts to search out the heated racks to scope what will be comparable to his aforementioned “breakfast blast”, then he finds they offer breakfast sandwiches—which should be the thing he eats instead of pure sugar. Now only one person separates him from placing his order; he was set and now he reaches for his wallet. He merely flicks his gaze over the shoulder of the young woman at the register and stares at the most perfect ass he's ever laid his eyes on.

As is Jared's M.O., his hazel gaze slowly trails up the body to try and figure out if the face will match the backside. Each of the employees wears Khakis and a green Polo shirt; over that are aprons: anyone who handles food or coffee has to wear the full apron, but those who run the register—or out busing tables—wear a short-waisted apron. Males wear full baseball caps on their heads with name of the coffee-house emblem on the front, while women wear the visors.

Jared's eye-candy stands at a menacing coffee contraption, like an antique espresso machine, churning out orders without looking up or batting an eye. Jared watches the stretches of muscles along the wide expanse of back, then the flexing of biceps and forearms as the body reaches, tugs and pulls in different directions. Jared's mouth is already watering and he's up to place his order. He tries not to distract himself by staring rudely behind the cashier's right shoulder, but someone has walked up to his eye-candy, whispers in that perfect shell of an ear and the most beautiful, resounding laugh is expelled that actually has Jared's ears going numb with pushing all other sounds out around him, only focusing on one.

“How may I help you, sir?”

“uhm...” Jared is stuck watching the elongated stretch of pale neck and then...not. “—I'm new here...what do you recommend I try that would keep me coming back for more?” He knows it was too criminal for him to do—hit on a young lady who's susceptible to the charm of a handsome male, but it's always too easy. He places his order, pays and then gives a different first name than his real one. It's simply a precautionary thing he does, since having some doozies try to ask him out at other places. Anonymity is good, and who knows if he'll even come back to his place.

Jared attempts to stand out of the way, looking like he's perusing the magazine he swipes up to kill time. He keeps reminding himself of the name he's given, so he'll pick up the correct order. But his gaze is following his eye-candy and he notices that the guy is serving the coffee orders after the names have been bellowed. Even as the guy turns, something high on the counters blocks Jared's clear view. All he can deduce is that the guy has short hair under his ball cap, but the head barely lifts, keeping the brim low as a muscular arm extends to serve the coffee and whatever else the customers order.

Pretty soon Jared starts to recognize the people who were before him, swiping up their own orders when suddenly his fake name is called. He pushes off the magazine rack to bypass exiting bodies and stands at the higher counter to watch his eye-candy pull from a lower cabinet to show a take-out bag; the guy swipes up a set of large tongs and snatches up the last two sweet tortillas wraps—tightly wrapped flour tortillas baked in cinnamon and spices then rolled in granulated sugar, then sprinkled with powdered sugar. Yes, when or if Jared returns to this place, he'll try to eat healthier, but not today.

Jared picks up that no rings adorn the thick fingers of either hand, but that doesn't mean much these days. The bag is almost gently tossed onto the counter, and the guy finally grabs Jared's coffee cup to send it along, as well. But Jared reaches out, anticipating the swift move to disappear; he doesn't want his coffee to slide over the marble like his bag just did. He intentionally brushes fingers with his eye-candy.

Jared is used to flirting: to a lift of a head, a twinkle in a pair of enticing eyes or at least an enchanting smile. But there was... _nothing_. Not _no_ - ** _thing_** , but the head doesn't lift, the eyes don't connect and there’s not even a secret smile to himself. The guy yanks back his fingers as if burned, his body stiffens as the head bows more, if possible, and the skin flushes bright pink. A loud beep breaks the guy's fugue state and then he spins away from Jared completely, heading back to the grind of making his coffee orders. Not before he has made a pit stop to wash his hands, like he's been dirtied or is somehow unclean.

Jared backs away, trying not to be offended, but he's curious nonetheless. It's not a typical human reaction. Humans like touch—well, most did—and they crave attention, to be noticed and looked at and found attractive. The reaction given was more ingrained, like it had been taught over and over to be less human, to show that they meant nothing because the person was nothing. He leaves the coffee-house after staring behind the counter from a farther distance. Jared does see the cap brim lift again, but he knows it's because the guy thinks he's “safe”.

Twenty-nine years of chasing tail and with his first guttural rejection from another male, Jared is way beyond his usual intrigue.

==&&==&&==

Jensen lays on his back, letting his alarm go off while he stays dead center of his bed. After a few annoying minutes, he pushes upright and hits the Off switch, then looks down at his hand, bringing over his other to rub the skin. He still feels the tingle of the warm brush of fingers, so brief he should've forgotten it by now, but for someone like him, who avoids touch of all kinds, he was a bit traumatized, if not, somewhat fascinated.

 _He_ had done this. _This_ had been his fault. His fault that he'd done something sinful to cause another person to want to touch. To actually reach out and desire to touch him. He was bad. A sinner. He knew he would take his punishments with no complaints. God would see fit to reprimand accordingly...if his stepmother, Ella, wouldn't get to him first.

He throws off the covers and moves to sit on the side of the mattress, his heart races when his feet hit the floor. Jesus...his mind is still remembering, giving his body no other outlet but to react in such a lustful fashion.

 _Want. Need. Caress. Kiss._

...but his fantasy never goes further. He can only imagine what would come next after the kissing and caressing.

He shakes his head and stands, moving quickly to change out of his sleep clothes and grab his work outfit, with clean underwear. Stripping completely naked, he hurriedly steps under the spray, squeezing his eyes tight as he soaps a cloth, washes vigorously without lingering on his own body. He does spend awhile shampooing his hair, only because he feels a lingering throb from the hollow of his head; he thinks another one of his bad headaches is cropping in, which he doesn't need with the long shift he has at the bookstore today. He is going in later than usual so he can cover the shift changes throughout the day and night. Also, Mama Ella—as he calls her in his head—wants him to pick up extra hours this week, and next, to pay for her weekend in Atlantic City next month.

He grumbles and hates on himself for always caving into her whims, but it meant a weekend without her in the house. A weekend to himself where he can say, or do, whatever he wants. He would work seventy-hour work-weeks if it meant he could have more and more weekends or just more time alone. Of course he'd never do much, but simply having the opportunity for free time on his hands was exciting.

Jensen really doesn't mind being alone. He doesn't like being alone with Mama Ella here, but he doesn't have siblings and he isn't really interested in women, or girls. He never has been. So, for him, his only other option was being alone.

Oh, how easily he forgets why he doesn't like women. It seems like Mama Ella has worked her “magic” so eloquently that it never occurs to Jensen that he likes men. He had liked men before—they were boys at the time he truly knew he was gay—but, fortunately, he'd been “cured” of that feeling.

Jensen makes quick work of drying off, then dons his boxers before his dick has a chance to feel a chill and harden. He steps to the sink to shave, put pomade in his hair to shape the short strands into some type of style. Then he dresses in the green Polo and Khakis.

It's been several days since the “brief touch” incident, Jensen had only been covering that morning for an employee who had called out sick. He'll now be back in his usual position at the bookstore. He's been working there for years, since he was eighteen. Something to do to not be at home— _with her_. Jensen had never had much of a say in his life once Ella Laughton—now Ella Laughton-Ackles—had stepped into his world. She hadn't just romanced, and seduced, her husband, but his young son, as well.

Jensen hates that word—“seduced”—because it gives the idea that he had, has had or is having a sexual relationship with his stepmother. Nothing can be farther from the truth. Granted, she was hands-on and clingy at the weirdest of times, always the one touching or groping. She knew just how far to go to make the moment intimately awkward for Jensen, then she'd block her own cock-tease. His friends—mainly consisting of co-workers and a few people from church group—often think how creepy Jensen and his stepmother's relationship is, and still can be since he's now reached thirty-two.

He places blame on himself for his social inadequacies. He allowed this to happen. He knows his role in this world, in his life right now, is his fault because he's never let anybody else in to show him any different. No one has been here to care enough to show him what's out there for him.

Jensen walks out to look at himself in the full-length mirror on the inside of his closet door. He has all the old bookstore uniforms over the last fourteen years of service with the same company. He has never reached manager or assistant manager status and doesn't plan on it; he loves exactly where he is, in the thick of things, at the comfort level of cashier/stock boy and pretty much “filler” for all the other menial jobs at the store, and some behind in shipping/receiving.

He glances at the time, hearing the floorboards creak above him to sound Mama Ella moving about, but not waking. Jensen puts on his watch, fitting his leather belt through loops. He's fast with his socks and comfortable walking sneakers as he hurries out of his bedroom on the first floor at the back of the house—what is typically called the “in-law” suite. It's only a few steps to the kitchen. He moves to the fridge, grabs the usual ingredients and spends the next twenty minutes making the most delicious breakfast he will never get to eat. This is for Mama Ella. Jensen won't have time to eat, but he'll snack on something at work if he starts to feel punchy or hungry at all before lunchtime.

He carries the familiar tray in his arms as he takes the huge staircase. He knocks on the master suite door, entering when he hears the summon to “come in”. The huge bed is empty, but it's clear someone has left the covers in disarray. He puts the tray on a smooth part of the mattress, then walks over to pull back the heavy curtain to let in sunlight.

Mama Ella is draped over her chaise lounge, quite dramatically—if not too suggestively—as her silk robe hangs open to reveal how her too-short negligee rides up those thick, flabby thighs. The woman is pushing fifty-eight, but still considers herself youthful and gorgeous. Many think she could be if she erased all those Botox injections, varnished off the caked on make-up and stopped being such a nagging, hateful bitch.

“Oh, Jenny...my sweet...come here...come give your mama a kiss an' a hug.”

Jensen is about to bring the tray over, but clenches a fist as he closes his eyes. He doesn't know why he still gets caught up in her web, still willing to stop everything to do her bidding. He is grateful she has let him stay here and keep a roof over his head—even though his job and his father's dwindling estate pays the bills and every single one of her expenses.

He obeys to walk toward her, sit in the space she provides for him and slips easily into her wide open arms. He contains the “kiss” to her cheek, maybe her neck if he feels like he can stomach it. She smells ripe in the mornings after she's had too much to drink. Today's not bad, but he doesn't go lower than the face.

Of course she holds him for too long, grabs the back of his head to keep him close against her rubbery skin. Before it had been confusing as to why such a vibrant, lively woman would want to toy with her stepson in such a manner. Now, it's almost excusable as she has isolated them both in a life where they are one another's only human contact.

Ella does have her own friends: women her age, from the neighborhood and the church, who come over several times a week and indulge her in silly card games, which she always manages to win. But as far as male companions go, Jensen is all Ella has—a widower for almost as long as she had stayed married to Alan Ackles. She's still in search of something—someone—that will eventually satisfy her and stop her from continually wanting, but by now it's too easy and convenient to use Jensen for much of her enjoyment.

Sometimes she's been desperate enough to beg Jensen to fuck her one time, just to get this penchant for stringing him along out of her body. But the time for sexual intimacy has passed for them and she likes that Jensen holds tight the word of God, keeping his young body clean and his fragile mind pure of sinful thoughts and lustful urges. She's certain Jensen has never had sex, so his virginity has become sacred to them both. Every so often she'll get a sentimental pang to being a grandmother to Jensen's children, help raise them, but the feeling passes because she knows it's only because she hates that her friends coo-and-aww about their own grandchildren. And Ella hates to be outdone in conversations.

Finally she pulls back, Jensen having already taken his arms away. She reaches out to touch his face, inhaling his freshly-showered scent, his spicy shampoo and that light musky cologne he wears that's never overpowering. “—ohhh, my beautiful Jenny...” She sighs and grins, not even fretful or bothered when the green eyes avert or the chin bows low to chest. She doesn't even acknowledge the all-over blush to the pale freckled skin. Her hand drops to his thigh, near her hip, and she caresses—always a little too close, a little too personal and enough uncomfortableness to have Jensen pushing off the cushion to hurry back over to the bed to snatch up the tray. When he brings it over, he notices Mama Ella's not lounging as much as she's preparing for the tray legs to fit over her lap so she can devour the scrumptious meal that was prepared for her.

Jensen always stands still, watching closely for that first digested bite, merely waiting for approval.

“mmm...it's hitting the spot, Jenny.” Mama Ella waves her knife hand in the air like she shooing a fly. “You can go now.”

Jensen can't leave fast enough.

“ _Mama loves you!_ ”

The door closes on no reply from Jensen.

==&&==&&==

At noon he will stop bagging for the cashiers and then step onto the sales-floor to put out the new stock of books being checked in. He's already picturing how the cart will be organized for him, and how much easier shelving has become since he devised this new system. He's not brilliant; he's smart enough to get by. Sometimes he impresses himself, but he never celebrates for too long—idle hands being the Devil's playthings and all. Too much work to do and never enough time to do it all in.

Jensen picks up the books Margo has already scanned into the register, shaking out the canvas bag as this means a new customer has bought their bookstore club card. He loves working in tandem with Margo because she'll include him in on all of her commissions. She thinks he does too much for working here for so long, never wanting compensation for all of his hard work. Margo is married and childless, which is probably why she likes to “mother” Jensen on the shifts they work together on, or those rare times he comes out with the other co-workers. _Mother_ has a weird connotation for Jensen that often sends him into fits or rages. Not loud ones, but quiet ones where only he suffers. Margo is Jensen's buffer at times because he has a hard enough time with his coworkers near him, he goes insane if a customer steps beyond his pre-set boundaries.

As she shoves the drawers closed, Margo hands the canvas bag to the customer, wishing them to have a great day and to come back soon. Her eyes focus on a tall frame across the way behind one of the bargain book sale racks up front, then she corners Jensen as he cuts open a box of more canvas bags. “Hot guy again. 12 o'clock.”

Jensen stiffens, even though his back is turned. There mere idea that the man—Hot Guy—who had been giving him impure thoughts is here, somewhere behind him, makes his throat clog, his body go still and his cheeks go red-ripe. “Is he looking?”

“At you—no. At books—yes. I'm sure if you slink away, without turning around, he won't even know you were here.”

Jensen feels a very light touch to his shoulder. There, but then gone. Always. “I, uh—I jus', uhm...can you, uh...”

“Yeah, go ahead. The line has died down, but it’s close to the time to open the second register. Find a corner in the back and breathe, for christ’s sake, Jensen. He’s harmless. He’s not gonna jump out and hurt you.” Margo spins to glance across again and she sees the dark brown head dunking up and down, like he’s squatting to reach lower books. She waits until she can’t even see the top of his head. “Go now, hon’.”

Jensen doesn’t stick around to torture himself anymore; he swirls and curls around racks and shelves he knows by heart and manages to find himself a precarious viewing position in the distance where he can peek, if he wants—and he does, _want_. Hot Guy will never know he’s being watched; it’s not stalking unless there are intentions. Jensen only wants to look at Hot Guy to make certain he’s not blowing slim details out of proportion. This is Jensen’s third Hot Guy spotting, so he wants to make this one a bit more meaningful. He’s decided he’ll stay on the floor this time, instead of running away, hiding for a half-hour and then scurrying back out to see if Hot Guy was still around.

Hot Guy squats, moving around the heavy photography books stacked on the floor. It’s an interesting position for a guy in an expensive business suit. Even more interesting when a decision is made to actually sit on the floor in order to look over the book he’s been leafing through for more than five minutes. Large hands hold the back of the book with a five-finger spread splayed, the other hand flips to the back where an Appendix or a Glossary sit. Jensen is curious because it appears as if the guy is seriously on the lookout for _something_.

This would be one of those great times where an experienced floor employee would come in handy. They would see the customer in need, acknowledge the confusion or interest and then make an approach. They would then inquire, make suggestions and try to be helpful, sometimes often overextending themselves. Always—always—offering an alternative. Try not to let a customer walk out unsatisfied.

Jensen knows exactly how to handle a situation of this nature, he just doesn’t have the courage needed to walk up to a total stranger. And certainly not one who he finds this attractive and...flame-burning hot. He doesn’t know why he thinks he could do this, if he just took a deep enough breath and held his body as tight as possible; he might look like a cooked beet by the end of the moment, but it was a hurdle he meant to cross over one day. Jensen might fail miserably and give himself a migraine or a stomach ache, but at least he _tried_.

As he swipes perspiring palms down his pants, Jensen attempts to run a scenario inside his head of what he’ll say, because his tongue often trips him. Hot Guy actually has been able to steal his breath away twice now. That’s not a good thing when he needs air in order to talk. As he rounds the metal shelving he’s been peering through, Jensen watches Hot Guy stand to his massive height and turn toward a real floor employee making his way over. Jensen steps back, head bowed, uncertain where he should go since he’s feeling a little settled down without any sign of a panic attack.

Jensen retraces his earlier steps, fitting himself back behind the counter, picking up a plastic bag for Margo.

As Margo sends her customer on their way, she spins to face Jensen staring at him as he smiles and laughs softly with his chin bowed to his chest. “You okay?”

“uh, yes. Fine.” Jensen chokes on the “fine”, pretty much assured he needs to give up on Hot Guy because it’s just a bit too much for him to cope with this reaction on a daily basis.

==&&==&&==

It’s almost been a full week since Jared’s seen Eli and he’s beyond worried, not to mention he’s put a halt on all those calls he made for Eli’s grandson, until he knows more information. With no name to go by, or where Eli lived, he only had the connecting bus route. Jared doubts the bus driver knew much since the shift changed and the one who picked up Eli wasn’t the one who would be dropping him off.

At least Eli had given Jared a new stomping ground, not to mention a fabulous coffee-house to abuse and stalk religiously. The law office had even begun to order several of their lunches from their deli, but, of course, Katie was the one sent to pick up the take-out.

Monday morning bloomed bleary and dark, immanent storm clouds told of a rainstorm headed downtown in the next two hours. There was a probability of heavy downpours with steady rain the rest of the morning and afternoon. Jared wears his overcoat and brings an umbrella. For some odd reason, he felt like treating the office to something sweet and delicious once they all arrived, so he bought coffees and cinnabons, then made the coffee pot for fresh refills. Jared had been unusually late in arriving to work than he typically was, still earlier than everyone else, even Katie. He’s spent most of his morning fielding phone calls of people he’s been waiting to talk to since last week, letting the weekend pass by.

Now he was waiting for a phone call from an opposing attorney on a case, but he almost began feeling like he had to step outside for some fresh air. He had taken off his jacket hours ago, had loosened the tie and rolled back his cuffs to his elbows. Jared wandered around the outer office area, away from his cubicle office, stepping up to the huge picture window that looked out onto the park he would’ve been seated at in the crack of dawn this morning. He had stopped going when he had no one to sit and chat with.

As another car passed, and pedestrians crossed his view, the space cleared to show someone was sitting on the exact bench Eli would’ve been at.

Jared had been swiping a hand over his face, scratching at his growing stubble, his other hand settled on his hip. He goes still, body gripping tight with excitement, because he’s been let down so many other times before. This time the feeling is weird, but he assumes this might be something that allows him to know where Eli happened to be. He grabs his umbrella from the coat rack, turning to Katie to tell her to answer his phone— _please, pretty, pretty please_ —when it rings. He doesn’t stick around to even hear the question she asks so he can answer.

Crossing over the threshold, he stands in the entryway in order to pop open his umbrella then shuffles to the curb to look both ways before he crosses the street. He plasters a smile on his face, ready to tease Eli when he blinks fast to realize the face isn’t familiar...and it’s about fifty years too young. Still, though, it’s almost as if he’s traveled back in time to see a younger version of Eli, but the eyes are a darker green. They aren’t looking at him, right now. Now they are raised to the sky, watching the gray clouds crack open and rain down tiny droplets of cool liquid.

Jared stops dead in his tracks, swallowing hard as he’s unsure what to say, what to do or how to move. “You’re getting drenched.” The guy seems old enough to stay out of the rain, but Jared can’t help but feel a bit captivated by someone who isn’t afraid of a bit of water.

“It’s raining.” As the neck cranes back, the face tilts upward to let the droplets cascade down his brow, cheeks and jawline. Several have soaked through his spiked hair, others run down the exposed elongation of his neck muscles and tendons.

Jared swears he sees pure joy—like there’s a small need to stick out a tongue to drink the falling rain. He’s never been allowed to watch a person—another male—this closely or without inhibitions. His chest heaves with excursion but ends up being because he senses his body’s reaction to instant attraction. He hurries over, taking a seat on the bench he's usually on. He makes sure the guy is covered along with him. He turns a bit to face the guy, noticing the bowed chin to chest and the averted gaze and head to the right; the tight grip of the strong, pale hands on the edge of the bench look frightening. Jared opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted.

“Are you Jared?”

Jared chokes on his answer, mouth agape slightly with stunned shock. “I am. Why do you—?”

“I’m sorry.” The drenched head finally swivels to face Jared. “—Eli won’t be here for a long while.”

Jared remembers to close his mouth as he catches a flash of gorgeous green eyes again, staring directly at him, and the wettest, longest and most sinful-looking eyelashes on a man he’s ever seen. The shorn hair is damp, dark with random strands of blonds, light browns and even reddish tones. Droplets shimmy down a reddening face, pouty lips beginning to shiver from the freezing cold wind, as the guy scurries upright and darts back into the rain.

Jared nearly trips over his own two feet to catch the guy’s arm, under the biceps. It worries him when the guy can spin himself away so deftly, holding out an arm to ward off Jared coming any closer. “Okay! Okay! I don’t mean to be so forceful. But I jus’ wanna know...is he all right? Eli.”

The arm drops, but the head never lifts, mostly because of the rain.

Jared steps up to cover the guy with his umbrella, but finds him turning around swiftly to show his back, his stunning face in profile now.

“He’s ill.” The tone is short, clipped. There’s not anger. It’s like he’s trying to force words past his lips so he can run away. “He’s not dead. Or dying. But he’s... _sick_.” The guy’s worked himself into heavy breathing.

Jared wants to know how this guy knows Eli. Hell, he wants to know his name and why he's acting this way, like he’s severely shy and about to have a panic attack. “He doesn’t want anyone to see him, does he? Especially you?” He never thought his words would strike the guy in such a manner, making him break emotionally, right on the cobblestone path, right in front of him. “oh, jesus...I’m—” He scrambles to switch hands, fitting his body in front of the hunched frame and tries to see if an arm along the guy’s shoulders, or a soft pat on the back, will be calming enough. The body remains turned, spinning around to avoid Jared, simply to cry in peace, or to be alone in his own misery. Jared’s relentless, circling the guy with his offer of the cover of his umbrella, but adding the simple friendly arm of condolence without a care. “—you love him...”

“No. I don’t.” Again, the voice, the tone, is curt and rushed. Hands shiver to swipe down his face to dry off his skin. “I don’t... _love_. I can’t... _feel_.” A brow furrows as if he finds it odd to say out loud, like it’s been an automatic reaction for years but now it’s being address quite loudly and publicly. “I know he-h-h-he loves me.” The frantic breathes catch up to the words uttered. “He’s the only one.”

And before Jared can move his body, or even make another grab for an arm, the guy takes off at a dead run, hailing himself a taxi cab.

Dumbfounded and speechless, Jared stays there as he watches the taxi drive away. He still has nothing to go by. _Nada. Zilch._ He could beat himself up for wasting time on trying to think of a way to “charm” an attractive man, instead of doing some investigative research. The guy had to mean a lot to Eli, at least Jared deduced that fact. With a heavy heart, beating rather erratically, he’s even more concerned as he re-crosses the street, shakes out the umbrella and tries to walk back into the building without giving away his heightened emotional state.

Katie’s been standing at the front of her desk, frowning at Jared. “Was that your guy?”

Jared slams the umbrella back into the stand. “No, but it was someone. I don’t know what that was or who he is. I’ve got even more questions that I had before.”

Katie leans back on the desk edge, then crosses her arms to wrap around her body under her breasts. “I don’t understand, Jared, it’s just an old man on a bench. Why are you acting so—?”

“Don’t, Katie. Just. _Don’t_.” Jared doesn’t mean to snap, but he’s reaching the end of the proverbial rope and he doesn’t need any kind of taunts or teases from the sidelines. He really doesn’t know why he started to care so much; this isn’t usually like him. He’s never been this sentimental or concerned about a complete stranger.

“It’s a big city.”

“Well, I’m a persistent jackass. Sue me.”

==&&==&&==

Laying in bed, even after his alarm clock has sounded, then silenced, Jensen remains on his back, dead center. Covers are pulled up to his chest and arms are settled outside to pin the linen around his body. He sniffles, feels the moisture gathering, then lifts one of those arms to wipe a hand over his eyes.

Elias “Eli” Ackles, Jensen’s grandfather, was gravelly ill back at the nursing home and Jensen feels...helpless. He remembers the countless times Eli had been there for him when he could. All those days he had taken Jensen out of his stepmother’s grasp and tried showing him what family was really about. Not an absent father or a resentful stepmother. Eli had wanted to give his grandson everything he’d never gotten or hadn’t given to his own son.

Unfortunately, Mama Ella had sunk her claws in too deeply at times, which made it more difficult for Eli to whisk the boy away and truly care for Jensen as much as he wanted. Eli had walked away, frustrated beyond words and exhausted, unable to do much legally as he was only a grandparent and no one could ever reach Alan. Eli had tried his hardest to find a loophole, then he had his small stroke and was trapped in his daughter-in-law’s web, as well.

Jensen would have taken care of his grandfather for the rest of his life had Mama Ella not stepped in and sent Eli away. He still had no idea how she had convinced him Eli wouldn’t do well at home, with him, under their roof, and managed to get Jensen to believe that it was the will of God that the elder man be in the care of another’s hands. Jensen had thought he would do well on his own, caring for Eli, even knowing he had no medical training whatsoever; he loved his grandfather dearly and was a fast learner once someone was patient enough to teach him, step-by-step.

Jensen slams his fist down, upset and agitated that he’s allowed Mama Ella to worm her way into his life, almost running it completely and nearly costing him to lose Eli, in the process. Lucky for Jensen he had locals around the downtown area that knew of Eli and took extra measures to leave Mama Ella out of the conversation this time, going directly to Jensen with the news that Eli had taken another bad turn. He’d been able to leave work early, then the next day was his day off. That was when Jensen had taken the cab, after leaving Eli, and actually finding this special place where his grandfather had been trying to tell him about. Most importantly, this total stranger who Eli had struck up a nice, sweet friendship with.

He can’t believe that after all this time his grandfather had been right down the street from where he worked. Sitting right on that bench and somehow never taking a single step or walking one more block to reach him at the bookstore. So many wasted months of missed communication that Jensen was about to remedy on his own. He had a name now to the face of his Hot Guy from the bookstore, and he’d found out his grandfather had been talking to this man for several weeks. It was kind of scary but awesome at the same time.

Up close, Hot Guy—Jared [he likes that name a lot]—was just as imposing as he had been at a distance. But Jensen had never expected to find that there was such gentleness and kindness in someone so obscenely huge, with body parts so large the shyness inside of him should’ve wanted Jensen to run away, instead of sticking around to see what would be done to him. Oddly, Jensen hadn’t been scared or afraid, more embarrassed and disquieted in thinking that Jared may have had interest in his grandfather but no interest in him. He actually liked how tall Jared had been, loved that for once he felt safe and protected without even being touched or manhandled. It made him groan under breath to feel how much he had wanted to be touched...manhandled.

He covers a hand over his face in shock, feeling his body’s reaction full of lustfullness and desire—a want, a need that will never be fulfilled. He’s ashamed of who he is, who he’s become. No one would want him like he is now. Especially not a man like Jared.

He throws off the covers, stripping completely naked and not even paying attention to the semi-hardness that starts to bob in the air and slap against his upper thighs and hip bones. He jumps over the lip of the glass door to close the latch, then turns on the cold faucet before he’s ready for his actual shower. He shivers and jolts from the intense chill sent down his spine, but he knows this will cleanse his mind, and overheating body, of such deviant thoughts. Swiftly switching to warmer water, Jensen makes quick work of washing his hair and skin, completing his morning routine in a fury of inner rage. Each passing thought rolling in his head, of how he’s going to start to do something different each day to change a thing or two about his life, makes him hold his chin a little higher.

He doesn’t hear Mama Ella move about upstairs, but still goes to the kitchen to cook her breakfast. He prepares her tray and clomps up the staircase. He knocks once, maybe twice, not caring what he finds as he bursts in and settles the tray over her lap as she lays in bed like she can’t bother to get up this morning. Probably because she lounged around too hard all day yesterday, then had an all-night card game with her friends.

Mama Ella is under covers, no robe on and she’s pushed her sleeping mask to settle above her eyes and it holds back the wild curls of her bangs.

Jensen manages to push the sleeping mask further so he can press a delicate kiss to the pale brow, then roughly settles the covers back over her body so she doesn’t try to flash him any portion of her bare skin. He’s not sure what he’ll do if she tries to wheedle her way into his good graces. He’s already worked himself up to a nice level of frustration. “I have to leave, Mama. I might be late tonight.” He’s not sure why he said that; he has no plans to speak of that would keep him away. Jensen is determined, though, to see if he can occupy his time so he can make good on his promise.

“Jenny!”

Jensen slams the door hard, ending that conversation for the day.

==&&==&&==

Jared doesn't know what he's doing here. Why was he becoming addicted to showing up almost every day to this bookstore and browsing to never buy a thing? It was like a sickness. At least he had figured out that eye-candy-behind-the-coffee-house-counter and beautiful-green-eyes-in-the-rain were the same man. It gave Jared an added thrill to be inside the building, with the prospect of bumping into— _him_. Maybe.

Jared hadn't seen eye-candy since that first day and Jared knew beautiful-green-eyes probably thought he was a creepy asshole, coupling those ideas together there was no chance of Jared getting a reprieve. He had finally graduated to the regular priced, expensive bookshelves, abandoning the bargain stacks, mostly because he was actually here to do some research on a case. He had made a small pile of titles in his arms, intending to head to a comfy chair he had spotted in a private corner.

As he walks to the end of the aisle, Jared collides rather hard into a fast-moving body. He drops a book, or two, and catches the frame around the waist. “ _whoa-whoa! steady-steady. Igotyou-Igotyou._ ” His voice is soothing without even recognizing who he had nearly trampled over. Beautiful wide green eyes stare up at him in shock from the awkward dip of their bodies. “— _you_...” Jared's breath releases in a hitched manner, finding it kind of hurts to take in a little air. He settles their bodies back to rights, then tugs down the Polo shirt he had untucked from the belted Khaki-waist. “Sorry.”

Jensen pulls away, silently holding out one of Jared's books that had tried to escape. “My fault. I don't look where I go.” It's a habit of his he knows he should get rid of, especially when the store is at its busiest.

Jared has to bend his head to hear the soft voice. “Then it's my fault, as well.” He gives off a smirk, hoping to see a response back since the eyes are tentatively peering at him. “I never lifted my head once—plowed right on through.”

Jensen shakes his head, backing up to hide behind his metal book cart. He feels safest like this, able to look at Jared with this barrier between them. “I shouldn't be here today.” He can't explain why he's admitting this to a complete stranger—well, to Jared, who's known Eli for weeks, but to him...Jared is a total stranger.

“Oh?” Jared reorganizes the stack of books to fit under his arm.

“—'m'piss'd.” Jensen mumbles as his hands tighten on the structure of the book cart.

Jared wonders how anyone has the ability to tell since the poor guy never seems to lift his head for very long for anyone to notice. “—'bout what?”

Keeping his gaze firmly on the row of books in his cart, Jensen feels braver. “My life. What I've done—what I haven't done with it.” He clears his throat, staring at Jared's shoe-tips as he rubs his sweaty palms over his backside. “I'm turning 33 soon an' I've only worked here since I was 18. I'm single. I don't go out much, not even by myself. I've let the whole world pass me by—lettin' lov'd ones down along the way—an' I've got no one to blame but myself.” He swallows down his nerves, then lifts his chin. “Pity party. Table for one.”

Jared's flabbergasted...an possibly irrevocably falling in love. He snickers, rearranging the books to his settle under his other arm so he can lean on the book cart. “How's Eli?”

“Not worse, but not getting better.” Jensen sighs, bowing chin to chest as he fiddles with a few books.

“C'mon...” Jared's about to touch, but instead he places his hand on the metal of the cart next to one of Jensen's hands. “—walk me to that comfortable-looking chair I ogled before I came down this aisle.” He uses his head to point forward, ahead of where they stand.

Jensen goes stiff as he realizes he had initialized a lot of this conversation with a complete stranger—one he really liked. His Hot Guy and Jared-the-sable-haired-gorgeous-hunk-in-the-rain. He glances at his cart to see that he has books to shelve in that section. If he gets nervous or uncomfortable around Jared, he can simply shelve or do a clean-up job of straightening. He attempts to give off a grin, but it looks pained because Jensen feels the tension from it pull at his temples. He gestures his head for Jared to take a first step in front of him, and he'll follow. He promises he will, but at a snail's pace, so no one thinks he's slacking or dawdling while on the clock.

Jared turns at the last minute, not realizing Jensen had placed himself in front of his cart now, so that they nearly bump into one another again. Jared backs up, but not before he puts out an extended arm to hold Jensen in place; this time he doesn't mess with any of the clothing. “I'm Jared, by the way.” He knows Jensen's already aware of his name, but it seems good form to introduce himself with a polite hand out to shake.

Jensen stops short, startling at the feel of the warmth along his hip and waist, then looks at the large, strong hand being held toward him—chest level. “Jensen.” He keeps his head bowed, though he slaps his palm against Jared's in some semblance of decorum in a public setting. He immediately wants to drag his hand back, but Jared's hold is tight, the fingers span in wide-stance that seem to have glued themselves to his skin.

Jared can't help keeping his head bowed as well, but he's more intent on watching Jensen's hand sink into his grip: the way the pale skin conforms within the span of his palm. Jensen isn't tiny or small by any standards, but it's stunning to him that another man's fingers and hand could nearly disappear within his own.

Once both of them pull away from the handshake, they finally reach the open space where Jared had spotted that comfy chair. Jared goes to sit down, while Jensen spins around his cart to bend and grab a few titles of books. Jared places his stack on the shorter table near his left knee.

“You must really love working here or...have I just dismissed one of your all-time favorite pastimes?”

“I don't buy books as much as I enjoy reading them to put them back.”

“Understandable. For a book lover, or someone who likes to read, this place has to be overwhelming.”

With his back to Jared, Jensen feels he can talk freely without feeling awkward or as if he has to put up a front. “People assume they'll spend their entire paycheck here. But you often don't once you begin to see the pure crap and overblown hyped writers that don't come anywhere close to the great classics of good literature.”

It's the most Jared has ever heard Jensen speak to him, without pauses or without hiding his face; he hates that it's only Jensen's back he can see, but he'll take anything if it gets Jensen to say more than a few sparse words. Jared feels his heart race to hearing the whole dialog, uncut and coming directly from Jensen's heart and mind. “I'd be all kinds of a fool to ask if you have a favorite book.”

Jensen smirked, turning his head slightly to peek at Jared. He didn't act surprised when he found those hazel eyes connecting to his gaze. “It's more of a genre...sometimes an era of storytelling, even particular authors that read alike.” He clears his throat to take a long swallow of courage. “Do you have a favorite?” Jensen throws that question out there, taking the advice of long ago on how to keep a conversation going: _if at all possible, turn the question asked around on your partner, sometimes the reason the question is asked is that they wish to tell you their own likes or dislikes. It's all about compatibility and finding commonalities. Never let a moment go by with too much silence._

“I have a few, but I don't get to read much anymore. Anything I tell you I liked is something I read in school—high school and/or college. I don't read a lot, unless it's some kind of legal document or involved in one of my cases.”

“College?” Jensen says breathlessly, being that he had once dreamed of entering college years ago. Again, responsibilities and family obligations had kept him from seeking to further his degree. He swallows, hard, now finding another avenue to turn their conversation. “Where did you go...if I may ask?”

Jared loves that Jensen asked, but even more that he seems embarrassed by the pesky questions to invade something private. He doesn't care; anyone can find him on the Internet and he's fairly open about his schooling with clients. “University of Pennsylvania. For a law degree.”

“oh...you're a lawyer.” Jensen really doesn't know how to respond, because Jared didn't give off any kind of vibe that he normally felt around lawyers or anyone involved in law enforcement.

Jared chuckles, shaking his head as he looks down at the book he opened in his lap. “Why you gotta say it like that?” He sucks in a harsh breath when he sees Jensen grin, then hears a softer chuckle.

Jensen turns when he notices Jared startle where he sits: his eyes go wide, brows raise for a second or two and then there's a gentle smile spreading over perfect lips. “What?”

“Sorry...it's just that, you should do that more often.” Jared rubs a hand down his chest, smoothing his tie flat. “I keep thinking you can't lift your head at all. Or maybe I'm just too ugly to look at directly.”

“I'm— _shy_.” Jensen swallows, then furrows his brow. He didn't realize it can be seen as outright rude and disrespectful. He didn't mean to hurt Jared. “Wait...” Something is itching at Jensen's mind to make him think Jared may have been watching him longer than Jensen has spotted him. It's not fathomable to him that he could be the whole reason why Jared's here in the first place. “—have you met me before?”

Sighing heavily, Jared closes the book, knowing he won't get any reading done with Jensen looking at him with those darkening green eyes. “Yes...I'll confess right now.” He pushes out of the chair, making his way over to Jensen by way of the tables that split them apart. “You gave me a double order of sweet tortillas earlier this week, with a large soy latte mochiato...and I tried to touch you.”

Showing his back to Jared, feeling safer, Jensen shoves a book onto a space on the shelf. “Why?” He needs to know what made Jared feel compelled to touch him.

Jared's startled by the question. It's as if Jensen can't believe how attractive he is or that anyone would feel attraction for him. “I don't know. I felt like flirting with you.”

“Me? Why?” Jensen swiftly puts the cart between he and Jared as he watches Jared approach from the corner of his eye. He wants to laugh loudly at the prospect of someone wanting to touch him at all, unless they wanted something from him.

“Well, because...you're kind of a handsome guy.”

Jensen snorts out a light giggle, shaking his head. “ _Kind of_ a handsome guy.”

He laughs nervously; Jared's never been put on the spot to explain why he flirts, so he's a little out of sorts in how to explain what he had felt in that instant or how Jensen had looked to him in that moment of their hands making contact. “All right...I had no idea you were the type of person to fish for compliments, but...I was checking out your ass first and then—I watched the way your muscles moved as you worked that coffee machine like you ate, slept and fucked with it for years. Then you—-you laughed this—loud and outright—and your face—of what you allowed anyone to see...took on this inner joy and glow and then—god, I sound like a pervert, but I kept watching you serve the other customers, still unable to see your face. You called out my name—which wasn't my real name—and you refused to look at me, though I was openly staring at you. I think I saw it as a challenge and I...flirted with you to get you to respond.” Jared takes a breath, unsure if Jensen will react as he turns his back for a third time. He's now at the cart, hands splayed along the upper structure. “Jensen...”

Jensen shifts, looking over his shoulder under lowered eyelashes. “—yeah?”

“How does that make you feel? Knowing all that? Knowing I'm such a neurotic a-hole at times?”

Jensen doesn't know how to reply to those questions. No one has ever cared enough to dig deeper. They all take into consideration that Jensen backs away then they leave, proving to him that rejection from their hands was always inevitable. “—'m not sure how I _should_ feel.”

That was a weird turn of a phrase for Jensen to use, like he had to get permission before making his own opinion. “... 'should' feel? I think I remember that you're old enough to make up your own mind.”

“You would think.” Jensen is back to bowing his head, keeping his back to Jared. He can feel the cart moving by Jared's own hands, like he's threatening to remove it from being the one boundary keeping them apart. “I've got...responsibilities.”

“A girlfriend?”

“No.”

“A wife?”

“No.”

“A kid?”

“God, no.”

“What, then?”

“ _Who_.” Jensen supplies the correct word Jared should be asking.

“Who, then?”

“Mama Ella.”

“Your grandmother?” Since Jensen doesn't respond, Jared keeps going. “An Aunt? An older sister?”

“She's, sort of, my mother.”

Jared wrinkles his forehead in slight curiosity. He can find out that reason later. “And she— _what_? Requires round-the-clock care so you don't get to have a life of your own?”

“She's not an invalid. She just—needs me. An' I need her—a little.” Jensen closes his eyes, knowing how warped this relationship sounds to others' ears. “I was a difficult child. She—sh-sh-she was there when no one else was.” He looks up, then over as he watches something dawn on Jared’s face, slipping fast through his mind. “What? What is it?”

Jared can't believe it hadn't hit him until now. “You're... _him_. You're the grandson. Eli's grandson.”

“uh, yeah. I thought you knew already.” Jensen furrows his brow in perplexity. “He said he talked to you.”

“He did, but he was so vague sometimes. So vague I had an idea you were younger, around a teenager, stuck in an abusive home.”

Jensen swallows the bile sticking in his throat. He's not sure how to exactly call what Mama Ella has done to him to keep him so wrapped around her finger. At least not his idea of “abusive”. “He tends to embellish. I'm fine. Really.” He yanks his cart toward his body, dislodging Jared's stance.

“Jensen...” Jared clears his throat and tries to piece together everything he has so far. He needs to tread lightly. He was relieved to not have to worry about a child in danger, but now he's concerned that—just like Eli said—that the system once trusted had failed Jensen as a child and now he was a man stuck in a world that placed limits on him, made him want... _things_. Things he thought he wasn't deserving of. Jared knows this is a terrible action for him to take, when Jensen is raw and vulnerable. He gives Jensen a business card. “If you have to go, _go_.” Jared lets his hand linger, for a brief time. “But if I'm making you uncomfortable, by all means, tell me to leave. I'm not here to hurt you.” He tests the moment by letting his finger stray, just barely skimming Jensen's hand, the shape of the heel. “I'd like to be your friend, much like I am with your gran'father.” He smiles to himself, mostly. “We may have him to blame for us meeting this way. The last time I saw him he recommended I come here. I think he had some strange idea I’d be good for you. I foolishly took it to mean I could help you legally, because of the type of cases I take on. All along, I think he was trying to be a matchmaker.” Jared's still unsure because he hadn't even said one word to Eli about his sexuality.

Jensen was speechless, unable to lift his head. “He's the least romantic man I know.”

Jared moves the cart out of his way, leaning his side on the shelves beside Jensen. “People like him surprise you.” He reaches out again and caresses an index finger along the top of the hand holding his card. “I want you to know, I'm tenacious when I see something I want. And you've quickly become someone I very much want to get to know better.”

“But...I...”

“I don't care. I don't mind that you're shy or that this makes you ten kinds of nervous the more I stand close to you or try to touch you. Or that you're 32 with no life. That you've worked too many god-damn years as a loyal employee at a thankless job. I'm not even intimidated by your... _mother_.” Now Jared lets the back of his fingers graze along Jensen's wrist and forearm. He stays there, rubbing the skin to warmth, liking the feel of the short hairs on Jensen's skin. “I'll be here in the store for a little longer, looking over those books, then I have to go back to work.”

Jensen's stiff as a board where he stands, and where Jared eventually leaves him once he returns to sitting in the comfy chair. The conversation is done, over with, and Jared's back to opening one of the books on his lap, turning pages and quickly perusing the written words. Blushing from top to bottom, and attempting to calm his frantic breathing through his nostrils, Jensen sticks his head down, his eyes having watched Jared's shoes leave.

No more touching. Nothing. Like always.

Inwardly, he groans a painful yearn that aches through his entire body. He wants to follow Jared, leave his dumb cart behind and talk some more, make a date or do something else that will keep Jared in his line of sight. Jensen fears once he can't see Jared anymore, then there's every chance Jared will lose interest. Jensen won't make a real date with Jared as much as a 'coffee date”—away from here, alone, away from everyone, everything. He keeps Jared's card in his hand, tugging the metal cart in his wake as he tries to make sense of what he's feeling.

For the first time in years, Jensen thinks he was finally able to feel a real, honest emotion. A feeling that simply cropped up and he could hold onto without interference or a voice telling him not to go with the emotion. No one steered him elsewhere; it had come directly from himself.

He had wanted to kiss Jared, even knowing how inexperienced he was at kissing. Jensen still wanted it. He wished he'd had the courage to tell Jared before he felt this deeply ingrained need to hide in the back of the store, re-loading his cart with more books to shelve.

==&&==&&==

Jared knows if he leaves his number with Jensen there's a greater chance he won't call, but in order to prove he wasn't just trying to score a piece of ass, Jared has to give over control at some point. He grows a little despondent when Jensen disappears. He looks at his watch and figures he should pick one or two books, head up to the register. He takes the time to re-shelve the titles he doesn't want, feeling cruel to leave them laying around for Jensen to put back. It gives him extra time to stick around, making sure he won't miss Jensen if he returns.

Jared walks down the opposite end of the aisle, turning right to walk out of this back section. Palming the books in his hand, he pulls out his wallet. He has the cash, but if he uses his credit card it can be used as an easier deduction around tax time; these books will go in Chad's growing law library. Jared's standing in the line to purchase when he feels a vibration in his trouser pocket; his cell phone is picking up an incoming call. He thinks it's Chad or Katie, checking on him, but as he looks at the number calling the digits aren't familiar to him. Still, he chooses to answer because this could be for one of his cases.

“—'Lo?”

“What are you doing tonight?”

Jared's eyes go wide—voice is husky and soft, whispering directly into his ear. He swivels his head about, attempting to locate Jensen. “I'm still here. I haven't left yet.” He doesn't want to come right out and say he wants to see Jensen face-to-face, but he lets Jensen know he's around.

“I know. You're fourth in line. I can see you.”

A shiver rolls down Jared's spine. “No fair. I can't see you.”

Jensen exhales a long stretch of air. “I's better this way.”

“eh, says you. Ball was in your court.” Jared smirks. “Now it's back in mine.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

Jared goes still. He doesn't expect Jensen to sound this particular way over the phone, like he's the one pursuing Jared. “No, no, I didn’t. Sorry.”

“I don't want to go home after work.”

“Jen...”

“I's okay. She doesn't expect me anyway. I inadvertently told her this morning I might not make it straight home.”

“Is this you asking me out on a 'date'?”

“Probably. Is it working? Would you mind keeping me company while I waste a few hours away?”

Jared moves up in line. “Jesus, you're pushy through the safety of a phone-line.”

“When do you get off work? I can meet you at the—”

“I can be done when you need me to be done, Jensen. When does your shift end?”

“6:30. But I can cut out early, if you want.”

“What do _you_ want, Jensen?”

“I want this not to be difficult—for me...for you. I want the last two decades of my life back. I want for this to be worthwhile for you to pursue me. I want to be normal, go on a date with a handsome guy I like and jus'...I want this not to be aggravating for you because of how weird I can be.”

Jared clears his throat, staring ahead at the floor. “First of all, no relationship is ever easy. If it is, then it's not worthwhile. Second, I want to give you those lost years back, plus interest, starting right now. Third...” He takes a breath when he can hear Jensen's slow breathing in his ear. “...the minute I touched your hand, there was no doubt in my mind trying to search for you would be the best decision I've made in years. Normal is overrated—and, yes, I'll go on a 'date' with you—and...it takes so much more than you know for me to get truly aggravated. I have an unlimited amount of patience.”

Jensen smiles, hiding his face against the wall he was once leaning back on. “I won't hold you to everything you said, but I really appreciate it—the reassurances.” He clears his throat, then swallows nervously. “I'll meet you at the bench after 6—okay?” There was too long of a pause. “Jared? You still there?” He scared he may have lost Jared as he rolls over on the wall, resting on his back to lean his head backward.

“hmm? oh, sorry...I'm at a register now.”

“You heard me?”

“Yeah-yes, I did. And...it's more than okay. The minute I see you in the park, from my office, I'll leave work. Our offices are directly across the street.”

“I'll see you then.”

“Yes. Looking forward to this. I can't wait.”

“Don't go overboard.”

Jared hangs up on a hearty laugh.

Jensen can still hear it, echoing throughout the store. He remains on his back, against the wall, then spins to peek beyond the wall's edge. Jensen can't help smiling just because of the addictive power in Jared's smile and his open friendliness to everyone who wanders in his path. It stuns him that he has done that to another person, such a simple gesture giving an outright pleasure that radiates over everything and everyone.

He wishes he had the right to do that for Jared on a permanent basis—like a forever.

==&&==&&==

Jared feels an extra “umph” in his attitude and demeanor at the prospect of seeing Jensen in a few hours, allowed to spend the time alone, together. He's unusually giddy and optimistic.

Katie's in a perfect spot to watch every single facial cue and tick unfold, spotting the glaring difference. “Am I missing something or did you do more than eat lunch during your break?”

“Promise not to laugh.” Jared stands up, swiftly hanging over his cubicle wall to stare at Katie.

“I reserve the right to tease relentlessly, but I won't laugh-too hard.”

“I think I've met someone.”

“Someone? I'm sorry...is that code?”

“haha...I deserve that. As often as I've flirted and been rather ruthless with men's hearts in my open pursuit of them. This time...I'm the one smitten.”

“Holy Christ! Seriously?”

“No joke.”

“Wha-? It's not that—wait...when have you even had the free time to see anyone, Jared? You have 12 hour days and you're here at the butt-crack of dawn. Is it that old guy...?”

“In a way, it is and it isn't.”

“Wow, way to be mysterious.”

“Can you blame me? The whole office is always in my business.”

“—'cuz we care. And your track-record sucks.”

“Give me another day or so before I'm willing to reveal a little more to everyone.”

“ah, the newness of attraction. Kind of want to keep him for yourself a bit longer.”

“I'd hide him away forever if it wasn't illegal.”

“Is he hot?”

“Why does _that_ have to matter?”

“You don't usually go out with regular guys, Jared. Some have, literally, been male models.”

“He's...easy on the eyes.”

“oh, fuck you, Padalecki.”

“Nice. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Chad wanders out of his office at the mild sound of raised voices, plus...he's bored. “What's he done now, Katie-dear?”

“Jared's being a big mean poopy-head.”

“—an' Katie's meddling again where she doesn't belong...”

“Kids! Kids! Please...keep your personal bullshit to yourselves.” Chad tucks away his hands into his pockets, using his head to motion toward his best friend. “I told you, Jared...you should have dated Katie when she asked you out two years ago. Or else she'll always act like a jealous fishwife.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!” Chad snaps back in kind because he likes to mess with Katie and see her all fire-red and pissed off. She heaves a good bosom in his direction that he appreciates more than she's aware.

Jared chuckles to himself. “Now who's bein' a 'kid'.” He holds up his hands in his defense. “I may be an asshole, maybe a bastard, but even I know when it's not smart to lead a straight woman astray.”

“I'm not dumb, or desperate.” Katie huffs out, arms crossing under her breasts. “I've dated gay men before.”

Both Chad and Jared share a “look” then bust out with smiles that lead to laughter.

“What? I still manage to get what I want out of it.”

Jared shakes his head. “You shouldn't break your spirit like that, Katie. A duck is a duck.”

“Jared's right, Kay. You should think of yourself more when dating men. Have some pride.”

“I do fine, Chad. Thank you, though.”

“I know you do, but...don't give me that 'look', Katie. You know how I feel about office dating.”

“You mean just for me. It's nothing but an office full of heterosexual male dangly bits. Jared's the only gay man who works here; he can be excluded.”

“It's not to hurt you intentionally. I'm trying to protect you from these hormonally challenged buffoons.”

“yeah, whatever. Feels like I'm being singled out. I see more of you idiots than I do my family, my friends...even my own roommates.”

Chad watches as Katie leaves in frustration. “How does she do that to me— _every_ time, man? Am I not speaking clear enough for her?'

“You do fine, Chad. Katie's always been...distracted.”

“Because she's still broken up 'bout her Ex?”

“eh, maybe. How would I know. This is how she's been with me every day I've known her.”

“So you're telling me she needs to get laid?”

“Whoa! I did NOT say that!”

“You thought it. Just like I did.”

“Well, you nipped any possibility in the bud of her finding romance here. Even if it is one of our temps or out of the paralegal pool. She's the face of your company, Chad, and you're the main reason she's so fuckin' agitated all the time.”

“I'm not gonna sleep with her just to boost company morale.”

“Nah, but you could try being nicer and release that tight leash you have on her. If you don't want her, at least let her look elsewhere.”

“It's not that I _don't_ want her, Jay. It's that...she's too good for me.”

“oh. You're scared one night won't be enough.”

“I'm not that guy. An' I'm certainly not the perfect guy she's looking for.”

“Let her decide that for herself. She's a big girl, Chad. You can't be worse than the dozen or so guys she's dated or slept with already.”

“Thanks. Not exactly the confidence booster I'm looking for. When did you suddenly find your Cupid's bow and arrow?”

“I think I've had it awhile.”

“Do I know him?”

“No, Thank God.”

“—and Katie tried to get you to spill and you shut her down.”

“I don't know what—for the first time, I'm not in control. I'm leaving all the moves up to him. So far, he's exceeding my expectations, but—this isn't like my typical conquests. I need a delicate hand and an extreme amount of patience.”

“Can you do it? Work that hard to get sex?”

“Sex? I'm still working on being able to touch him without him fleeing 50ft away.”

Chad looks pensive and thoughtful. “wow...well, you're terrific with your kids—sorry, your _clients_. You know how to be with them without crowding. They walk in here cowering and afraid of any type of human contact, but by the end of their case, they're the ones with their arms wrapped around you like they can't bear to let you go.”

“Every single one has mattered, in different ways.”

“So...think of this guy as one of your clients. Create the space he needs, but...leave those breadcrumbs visible so he can find you when he's ready.”

Jared shook his head, staring at Chad.

“What? Do I have mustard on my tie?”

“No. You sell yourself too short, dude. At some point we have to be mature enough to know it's not always going to be like it was in college. Or how we all were so carefree and promiscuous before 25. I think all of us here have tried way-too hard to settle our careers, since leaving the firm together, that we missed the bigger picture.”

“Which is—?”

“Have the stable career, the steady income, the nice house and the paid-off car are all-well-and-good, but at the end of the day isn't it better to have someone waiting at home, always in your corner, willing to share every single moment with you?”

“Jesus...it sounds like you're in love.”

“Yeah? Well, so are you.” Jared looks over at Katie as she makes her way out of a back room, carrying a stack of contracts needing to be copied. She moves to the copier machine. He can't help noticing how Chad glances toward her briefly, then has to look away and down, mumbling something about a transcribed deposition he still needs to look over in his office.

Even with the quiet somberness of the office, Jared still manages to feel happier than he's ever been.

==&&==&&==

Jensen keeps picking up his cell phone, ready to cancel the “date”. But every time he thinks about leaving work to return home and having to face Mama Ella...he's left his phone in his pocket. He's managed to occupy himself at work until the end of his shift, but five minutes before he leaves out the employee Exit door, Jensen is in a near panic.

He's an idiot. So stupid. Here he was on his way to meet Jared for their “date” and he has no idea what they'll do. Jensen doesn't even know what couples do on “dates” these days. He's completely brain-dead, but...he thinks Jared might not appreciate Jensen stealing the suaver, more romantic moves of some Hero in a work of fiction or a classic novel. But then again, Jared seems open to a lot of things, willing to explore several possibilities. Hopefully, Jared doesn't mind his inability to plan ahead and will be able to help him out with some suggestions.

Jensen crosses the street at the start of the block and is now strolling toward the opening to the park, along the cobblestone walkway. It's a little crowded at this hour as people meander after work, waiting for the buses or wasting time before having to hail a cab ride home.

He almost doesn't see Jared, but once he lifts his head, chin high, he's able to spot the mop of styled brown hair, swept back from the strong handsome features; Jared's taller than every male passing by. He's also standing silent and beautiful, like spun steel: he's erect with feet planted a good space apart, jacket off, but palmed in his hand as his arms fold over his flat abdomen. Jensen is able to check out the backside as Jared keeps his body turned to look toward his office building, expecting Jensen to walk up to him from another direction.

In minutes, Jensen's shadowing Jared, looking across the street with him. “Maybe if you stare long enough, you'll see what you want most.”

Jared startles, smirking as he slowly spins to face Jensen. “Well, would you look at that. You were right.”

Jensen lifts up one side of his mouth, excitement building. “I have a small confession.”

“hmm...do tell.”

“I may have jumped ahead of myself in asking you out.”

“oh? Is there something wrong?”

“Yes. Everything. I'm not—I don't know what to do.”

“Don't know, in general, or you don't know what to do with me?”

“What do people do on 'dates' these days?”

“How long has it been since you—?”

“Never.”

“Seriously?”

“Why would I try to lie about that?”

“Well, people do lots of things. Sometimes the old 'dinner and a movie' works. But there are times when two people are fixed on a blind date or from an online profile matchmaker, they just go out for a meal, maybe some late night coffee.”

“What about you? What did you do on your last date?”

“I _don't_ date.”

“ahhh. What do you do, then?”

“I, uh...do what's called a 'hook-up'.”

“And that means...?”

“Sex.”

“oh-okayyy...”

“Not just sex, but it's—mostly...sex.”

“This works for you? It makes you happy?”

“I won't say it makes me 'happy', more, like, satisfied until I feel the, uh...'urge' again.”

“Urge?”

“The want. The...desire of a man's body. His touch.”

Jensen swallows, averting his head as he feels a sudden blush overcome him.

“You feel the 'urges' too?”

“I'm not—they're not good thoughts. I'm a bad person for even letting my mind think—”

“You're not bad, Jensen. It's not a sin to want someone—even another man—to touch, or caress you...intimately.”

“God doesn't like...”

“Look...God has no purpose being in your bedroom. If God wants something from you, he wants you to not want this so desperately, pining for some kind of completion to who you know you are and never finding fulfillment.”

“It's not right to give in to such temptations.”

“It's a sin and a shame to let it fester without ever knowing the pleasure of another's body.”

Even with Jared making a mere mention of this “urge” they both share, Jensen feels his body respond. He jolts forward, not meaning to sprint away from Jared so rudely. “Walk. Let's walk. Shall we?” He glances back, looking over his shoulder as he places his tight fists inside his pockets.

Jared watches Jensen scurry ahead of him. In several long strides, he's side-by-side with Jensen. “Someone's made you feel dirty for the way you naturally feel. For the type of person you want to lay with.”

“I haven't always felt this way. I was young—in high school—I was with another boy my age, in my same class. He liked me back, I _know_ he did. We didn't...we hadn't kissed yet, just held hands, spent nearly every second we could together, stood close to one another to look suspicious, raise a few eyebrows.”

“—and you tried to take the next step...and got caught.”

Jensen nods, his shoulders slumping forward as he bows his head in shame, still feeling guilt. “I don't know how she found out. We were on school grounds. A teacher found us. By the time I got home, I was sent to my room. My punishments had already been decided.”

“Your dad?”

“Gone. A trip to the Congo, living amongst a tribe of natives.”

“Did he have any say in this? Or did he leave her a 'blank slate' to do what she thought best?”

“Yes. She was sure to tell him, in her own words. I'm certain she demonized what I'd done to sway him in her direction. I was at fault. I was to blame. I ruined the life of another young boy. I was ostracized when I came back to school. The boy I had been caught with couldn't even stand the sight of me. In another month, I was enrolled in a private boarding school, miles away.”

“Good Catholic values, I bet.”

“I was told I needed the structure, the discipline. She was right, I did like it, but only because there was no one left at home to miss me, or for me to miss anyone. By that time, I think my father was done with me.”

“jesus, 'm sorry, Jen. I know it's never gonna be enough to hear, but—”

“I get it. I do, so thank you. Coming out as a gay man started looking less stressful than the life I started leading. But at the time, that way of life, was all I had.”

“And now?”

“There's no excuse now.” Jensen pauses in his steps, staring down at his own feet. “I just need to find a reason to want to change.”

“You mean...to change for someone other than yourself?”

“Yes, at the moment, yes. I don't know who I am well enough to even be kind to myself or care what happens to me.”

“What if—what if the someone you cared about started caring?”

“Would he?” Jensen's stunned that someone will find him worthy of that kind of feeling.

“It's possible, Jensen. I have it on really good authority.”

==&&==&&==

They had walked full circle around the park, meeting at the same benches again.

Jensen had sat down in the space Eli would've taken, Jared had taken his old spot.

“So...how do you feel so far? Good? Wanna keep going? Or are you ready to call it in for the night?”

Jensen looks down at his watch, then he turns his head to look at Jared. “You hungry?”

“I can eat.”

“Can you walk?”

Jared narrows his gaze, curious to Jensen's line of questions. It's almost like he does have a plan, but it's formulating slowly. He senses Jensen is too afraid to mention it out loud. “I'm not tired, if that's what you mean. How far is it?”

Jensen is amazed by Jared's keen perception. He bends his head, smiling shyly, but goes right back to lifting his head as he stands. “I should've done this sooner.” As Jared follows, climbing to his own feet, Jensen blindly reaches out to mold his hand to Jared's waist, over a hip, tapping the trouser material lightly. “I'll lead, jus' follow me closely and try not to get lost.”

Jared doesn't know what to expect; he never thought Jensen would even take the initiative to touch him so freely. He complies, able to keep up the pace behind Jensen with his long strides. He stays a few inches back to be sure he can see where Jensen is taking them.

It's too crowded to talk. Downtown is bustling with pedestrian traffic and the rare car going at speeds less than 10mph. It's easy to concentrate when there's no conversation to be had. And in no time at all Jensen has them in front of a squat, rectangular building only a few stories tall. It doesn't look like much from the outside, but once they're through the front doors, the quiet opulence of the foyer is overwhelming. Feels like it's a hotel or some hidden-away apartment complex. But what gives away the truth are the employees mode of dress: some are in plain street clothes, a few in white jackets over their own clothes, but some wear medical scrubs that would normally be found in a hospital setting.

Jensen wanders up to the information desk. He leans over the counter. “Is the cafeteria open, ma'am?”

Jared is able to tell the secretary, a little worn and weary from a tiring day, is taken aback by the politeness. He sees the eyes dart to his own face as he nods with a smile.

“uh, yeah. Any particular resident you're here to visit?”

Jensen gives off that shy smile of his with a blush and Jared witnesses some kind of magical power that makes the world do Jensen's bidding. “I'm afraid he doesn't know I'm here.” He back-walks and moves to the side to take Jared's elbow. “Elias and my friend here haven't been able to see one another since he got sick. Can we jus—?”

“oh, yeah. Yes-yes, of course, honey. Mr. Ackles was coming out of the elevator with his nurse as I came back from my break. He should be seated in there and halfway to eating by now.”

“Thank you...” Jensen squints his eyes to read the name-tag. “—thanks, Natalie.”

Jared's dumbfounded, needing to be yanked by that same elbow Jensen had snatched earlier. “What—in the hell was that?!” He pauses in the middle of the short, wide hall leading into the enormous, open cafeteria.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You—did you not realize what you did back there?”

“What'd I do?”

“You flirted. Well, you outwitted and charmed the panties off that poor woman. That was...”

“—stupid.”

“—masterful.” Jared crosses his arms over his chest. “It's those eyes.” He lifts a hand to playfully skim the curled lashes that adorn those damn-fuckin' beautiful green eyes. “They hold all your power.”

Jensen can't help but blush, trying to hide his silly grin. “An' you're being an idiot. They know me here, but I haven't visited in a long while. I had no idea he was living here, right under my nose.”

“This isn't where he was brought when he left home?'

“No, it isn't. He lived with us, for a long time, then...Ella thought it best he be put in a nursing home. His stroke incapacitated him, so I took over his care when I wasn't at the bookstore. She thought my time was being misused, so she convinced me that it was best for Eli to go away. It was very far, I remember—why I never saw him, never thinking I could drive out to see him.”

“His progress must have improved. Or, maybe, his insurance wanted him moved—sometimes that happens. It even could've been a doctor's preference.”

“All I know is, she made damn sure we lost touch. To a certain point where I stopped wondering where she sent him.”

“Hey, if it's any consolation, he doesn't dwell on that fact. He knows. If it's one thing I got from our talks, it's that he doesn't blame you one bit or hold a grudge against you. And I don't think he ever will.”

“Well, he should.”

“Jen...”

“C'mon...before all the good pie slices are taken.”

==&&==&&==

They're moving slowly behind a line of residents—there's quite a few of them and they aren't in a hurry to use their food tickets to pick up their dinners either.

Jared and Jensen had two trays between them, but they're sharing the spaces of each. Jensen has taken Jared's suit jacket, rolling the material over a forearm as he tucks both arms to his body, like he's holding himself tight. Once he spots Eli, he becomes fidgety and bashful. He went from rudely staring to turning his back and leaning into Jared's personal breathing space.

Jared can only stay silent, letting Jensen guide this moment. It's like Jensen wants to bolt, but doesn't want to be rude to Jared. Jared wishes he could tell Jensen it was okay if he wants to say something to his grandfather without him. But then Jensen would pull back into the line with Jared, huddling into himself or Jared. They finally reach the register, Jensen was quick to pay for everything; he has a small discount for being the family member of a resident. Jensen takes the lighter of the two trays, while Jared's precariously balancing the heavier one while trying not to bump into slow-moving elderly. It's better to allow them to pass, though it might take awhile.

Jensen appears to be going for Eli's table, but Jared hurriedly tugs him by the belt loop to yank him backward. Jared can tell Jensen isn't ready to see his grandfather. Instead, he steers them to a table a good distance from Eli and his nurse, who was feeding him and, generally, making sure her patient stayed clean, not making a mess of his food or drink.

Jared makes sure he sits on the booth bench-seat, facing Eli, while Jensen sits across from him, back to his grandfather, in a loose chair pulled up to the table. Jensen takes the seat with a heavy sigh, clearing off the tray of their sodas and side dishes and takes off their dessert dishes: Jared got cherry Jello and Jensen found key lime cheesecake. Jared stands at the side of the table, dividing up their main food plates, handing Jensen his BLT, while Jared keeps his cheeseburger. They will split an order of fries and a spicy pasta salad they were both wary of eating on their own.

Jared can see that Jensen has been holding onto his suit jacket for quite a long time; now it's on Jensen's lap, periodically being squeezed in Jensen's left palm like he's getting energy from the material. Right away, Jared sees that Jensen has been releasing some tension in his body. He knows Jensen wants to go over—like now, now—but it's obvious to him Jensen is still scared Eli will yell or chase him away.

“Eat some food. He's barely through his own plate and it looks as if he's here for awhile.”

“Thank you. I'm a little all over the place.”

“It's fine. You had good intentions bringing me here. I can finally see him, but, like you said, he's not anywhere near to being better. It's great that he's up and around.”

“Lung infection. He was ill for days. At least then I could visit with being chased out.”

“He's too proud to make you see him like this. He wants to see you when he's strong—stronger—when he can finally help you get away from—” Jared makes a motion in the air to mean Jensen's stepmother, Ella.

“He told you this?'

“yes. Last time I saw him.”

“When you thought I was a child.”

“uh, 13...maybe 15, tops. Never a child.”

“Are you—does it upset you that I'm not?”

“No. Not really. What does upset me happened too far in the past for me to do a thing about.”

“Why children?”

“Why not?”

Jensen nods his head in satisfaction, liking that curt, rough answer. “I'm sorry. I guess I hear 'lawyer' and I'm not able to fathom much good feeling about them.”

“I wish you could've had someone like me in your corner. My clients are the kids themselves. I will always look out for their best interests. Even when they're confused, or don't understand what's happening, and they change their minds a dozen times.”

“Well, in their defense, they'll always want something from their parents: love, acknowledgment, approval. Even when they're on their last shred of hope, ready to cut ties.”

“Do you recall what exactly happened with your case? After your father passed?”

“Yeah, but it's not my proudest moment.”

“Cut yourself some slack. You never knew any different.”

“I was forced to leave boarding school to live back at home. It was never the same.”

“You did what you were told because the only parent you had was here. How were you to know what had been going on behind your back? No teenager is expected to deal with his deceased father's estate. That's for lawyers and accountants to decide.”

“I should've been aware something was going on. Once again, I remained pleasantly oblivious.”

“Did you want to go to college?”

“Yeah, plans had been set in motion. Sadly, there was very little money to keep me taken care of. We lucked out when I left to comeback home for the funeral.”

“And you never left.”

“I could've left.”

“But...you didn't want to?”

“No. I-I-I jus' never had anywhere else to go. Or knew anyone that cared.” Jensen barely spared a glance over his shoulder. “Except Eli.”

Jared nods his head, looking toward Eli then back to Jensen. “Think 'bout going over soon. He looks in good spirits. Maybe you can catch him in a better mood.”

“Wait..”

“What?”

“I didn't think—I'm being rude, aren't I? Shouldn't I be _here_ —present, focused on you—us? The date?” Jensen softly slaps his hand to his forehead, “Instead, I'm—see, I don't know what to do. I really suck at this whole thing.” The flat of his hand turns into a fist and he continues to softly pound on his head.

Jared snatches Jensen's wrist, holding down the arm to the table surface. “Stop that.” He can't help chuckling a little at how ridiculously endearing Jensen was being. “I'm not complaining. If you had taken me to a five-star joint with reservations, then tried to whine and dine me, I can promise you I wouldn't be considering a second date. Any guy can feed me pricey steaks and ply me with rich Merlots and Chardonnays, but—no one...no one has ever been with me like this—like you have...and I...”

Jensen's eyes go wide on Jared's fingers splayed over his bare skin. He's not blushing, but he's heavily breathing. It's simply because he's turned on by the forceful gentleness and fascinated by the tanned flesh laying against his own pale skin. Jared thinks he has crossed a line and starts to pull backward, but Jensen grapples for Jared's disappearing fingers. He nearly whimpers at the thought of losing that simple touch.

It becomes a weird moment of Jared trying to tug his hand away and Jensen squeezing thumb and pinky around Jared's fingers. Jensen gets Jared to remain still as he deep breathes, then loosens the grip to keep his hand, palm down, over the top of Jared's. There was some shaking from Jensen's hand, maybe some sweat over the palm where Jensen let his hand weigh Jared's fingers down. Then he tilts his head, biting the corner of his mouth as he moves to lay their hands side-by-side. Jensen's pinky tucks into the crevice of Jared's thumb. Working his pinky underneath first, Jensen begins to fit his whole hand under Jared's. Jared stares down at their bond of hands and fingers, tilting his hand up so Jensen can slide beneath and that was pretty much one of the sexiest, weirdest hand-holding moments ever. In Jared's mind, Jensen slipping under his palm, to nudge the curve, was his way of submitting a small amount of power back to Jared.

In the next minute, Jensen pushes his chair back, removing his hand, then palming Jared's suit jacket again. “I'll be right back.” He stands, turning to leave, then paces right back to Jared.

Jared doesn't know what to think when Jensen stands right next to him, looming above.

“I'm enjoying our 'date', too.” Jensen clamps a hand on Jared's shoulder, squeezing the shape then releases to take off again.

All Jared is curious about is what's so spectacular about his damn suit jacket that makes Jensen not want to let it go.

==&&==&&==

The meeting between Eli and Jensen went down just like Jared had said. Eli had been in too good of a mood to be grumpy, so right away Jensen was at ease.

Jared sets aside his Jello as he munches on some fries and takes small bites of the pasta salad. He does swipe half a slice of Jensen's bacon, just because he can. He doesn't really know how close Eli and Jensen were prior to this moment: one growing up too frightened of anyone touching or coming close and the other intentionally pushing people away to not show weakness. To watch them sit together, the way Eli leans more toward his grandson and the way Jensen keeps moving his chair closer, it breaks Jared's heart in a huge way. He isn't regretting ever meeting either man, kind of ecstatic to be here to help rebuild their once strong bond.

Eli's voice is slurring, so it takes him a few seconds longer to speak, but Jensen is riveted to every single word uttered. His face shows genuine interest and he laughs out loud with no holds barred. There's quite a few tender moments: like Jensen pressing his brow to Eli's shoulder or his wayward hand smoothing across hunched shoulders, Eli would let his gnarled left hand extend to weakly touch Jensen's right arm, or let his fingers caress over the hard, square jaw and cheek. It was obvious how much affection flittered between them, that they both still had guilt and regrets, but there was enough effort in them to want to be in each other's lives. To finally rid them both of Ella's silent terror.

Jensen has quickly stood, hand clamped around Eli's hand and then he looks down at the strange jacket still in his grasp Eli must've been curious and inquired. Jensen nods his head, chin to chest like he's a little embarrassed about something he talking about. Then he bends low to whisper a few private words into Eli's good ear. He left after that and Jared can see the nurse trying to point Jared out to Eli. Jared waves, feeling like a fool as Jensen returns to the table.

“Go say 'hi'. He's getting better at recalling faces.”

As Jared stands, Jensen hands him his suit jacket. “Keep it. For now. You're doin' a great job of holding onto it.” He makes his way over, he doesn't even bother taking a seat as he kneels by Ei's wheelchair. He feels the sloppy hand over his face, the leathery skin soothing his cheek and jaw bone. There were no words Eli feels he can utter at the joy he's got at seeing Jensen out in the world. Jared closes his eyes, swallowing down his emotions. “Why didn't you just tell me who he was? Not that—I didn't mind how I met him, but...jesus, I make it sound like I'm pissed by what you did, but I'm not. I wished I'd met him sooner. Maybe this way is for the best, huh?”

The thumb scratched lightly over stubble, those light green eyes staring in total bliss at Jared's face.

“You're a dirty ol'man, ol'man.” Jared can't help but turn into the easy touch. “Okay, I confess...I like him. I like him a lot. I think I could—I shouldn't be saying this, but I think I could start to care about him more than I have any other man.” Eli makes a noise, turning his head to lean back on the pillowed cushion at the back of his head. He looks at the ceiling—skyward to the heavens—and his hand clamps around the side of Jared's neck as he lets the moisture in his eyes squeeze out in single tracks of tears down his cheeks. Jared's curious about the reaction, wondering what Jensen had told Eli about him and their situation as of this moment.

Jared gets off his knees, grabbing for Eli's hand to then lean over, wiping away the tears so he can press a tender kiss to the weathered temple. “Guess I'll be seein' ya 'round these parts, Elias.” He feels the gentle tightening to his hand then takes off, back to the table.

Jensen has been watching the whole five-minute moment unfold, containing his need to sob outright. He knew the minute he saw Jared kneel by Eli's side that his heart was trapped for good, never to be his alone to give to anyone else. The remaining time Jensen had held his breath, falling more deeply in love, if that was possible, far surpassing that childish infatuation back in high school. This was real and mature, less likely to vanish at the first sign of trouble.

He spins back around, making it seem like he hadn't been watching. Jensen watches Jared plop down on the bench and instantly he wants to sit next to him, cuddle to his side to give comfort. They could mutually give one another the comfort they both needed.

“He's a good man.”

“The best.” Jensen clears his throat, picking his fork back up. “I told him I'd try to see him next week. Right here for dinner again.” He licks his lips and swallows. “You wanna come?”

“Sure.” It takes nothing for Jared to reply immediately.

“Jared?”

“hmm?” Jared lifts his head from his plates.

“Thank you.”

Jared can only nod his head, beginning to dig into his Jello as Jensen tears into his cheesecake.

==&&==&&==

They manage to carry on a fairly enthralling conversation while finishing their desserts and moving on to coffee or hot chocolate—mainly to warm up for the walk back to the park. They stay as long as Eli, and then some. Jared glances at Jensen across the way, catching himself staring quietly too often not to feel embarrassed.

Jensen snickers, covering one hand over the side of his face. “Quit it!”

Jared smiles, down-casting his eyes. “I'm sorry.” He picks up the paper that carried his straw, smoothing it out to make a bow, then unraveling the paper to make another shape. “It's rude of me to ogle you when you're so close.”

“Really? That was you 'ogling' me? I thought it was just staring.”

“It is, with just more 'umph' behind the reason _why_ I'm staring.”

“Oh? Why?”

Jared stops moving, looking at Jared under lowered lids. “It means I'm getting those 'urges' by watching you.”

“I do _that_ to you? Just by looking at my face?”

“It's not only your face. Or your eyes. Or your ass.”

“You can see my ass from here?”

Jared deeply chuckles as he learns Jensen is beginning to discover how to flirt right back. “I meant from before, when I saw you behind the counter at the coffee-house.”

“Was I truly _that_ memorable?”

“Yes. And you still are to me.” Jared detects the cafeteria is starting to clear out. Only a few random latecomers are here. The kitchen staff seems to be shutting down equipment, preparing for the next day, which will only be a few hours for the early morning breakfast crew. “We should think about leaving.”

“Where?”

Jared glances at the wall clock, then his watch. “When do you have to be at work tomorrow?”

“I have the late shift. It covers the shift changes throughout the day. I'll do that the next couple of days, then have two days off—considered my 'weekend'.”

“So you wake up late to arrive home late. Maybe this was why you asked me out tonight.”

“No. I did it because...because I got scared this wasn't real.” Jensen stands to walk ahead of Jared.

Jared follows behind, not caring that he doesn't have to leave a tip on the table. “Does that happen a lot?”

“What?”

“Random good-looking dudes give you their number to call them for 'dates'?”

“oh, all the time. I have to beat them off with a stick.”

“Well, whatever you think, I'm pretty fuckin' real.” Jared offers out his arm to Jensen. “Pinch me—go ahead, it'll probably hurt me.”

“Nah, I know you're real now. I'm not under any illusions.” Jensen's about to take off, walking further ahead, but Jared's stopped in the entrance-way to the cafeteria.

“mmm, why do I get the sinking suspicion I'm about to loose ground again.” Jared hangs back, a step or two behind, almost circling Jensen. “Or that this ends here until you call me for a second date. If at all.”

“I don't want you hurt. An' I don't want to be the one who hurts you.”

“I'm a year away from 30, Jensen, I've been a big boy for a few years now.”

“I know what she's like an'...I don't want her to know 'bout you.”

“You afraid of her?”

“No. I just don't want her near you.” Jensen shakes his head, then starts to walk away on his own.

“Jen...” Jared scurries up to catch Jensen's quickening steps toward the front entrance to outside.

Jensen doesn't even think twice about shoving the door open, or holding it out for Jared to walk through. He shakes his body from the burst of cold breeze. “Jesus...when did it suddenly turn into Winter?”

Jared tugs his suit jacket out of Jensen's grasp, shakes it out of the folds, then he swings it in the air to wrap the material around Jensen's broad shoulders. “There. How's that?”

Jensen bows his head, rubbing his cheek over the jacket collar. “It smells like you.”

Jared averts his gaze, taking a hard swallow. “I'm not intimidated, Jensen. I don't care if she knows about me, or about us.”

“I care, because I know how she gets.”

“It's easier for you to let her win.”

“Sorry. I know I said I don't want to hurt you, but here I am doin' exactly...”

“No, I'm not hurt. I'm just—I'm trying to find a way to let you know I'm not going anywhere. Even if you leave me right now and I never see you again, or maybe it takes a week for you to recover—maybe a few weeks or a month—I want you to know how tenacious I truly can be. I'll still be here—waiting.”

Jensen looks down, then lifts his head to avert to the side. “I need to think. Can you give me that? I have to figure out a way to tell her so it won't look like I'm rubbing this in her face. Or that I'm abandoning her.”

“This shouldn't be that hard, Jensen. I know you two have an unnatural bond, but...you've said it yourself, that you've allowed your life to slip on by. I think—well, I know she's half the problem.”

Jensen catches Jared pacing away, fearing Jared was about to leave him, but Jared quickly spins on his foot, coming back with a hand on his hip, the other hand soothing his cheek and jawline. Jared not only walks to face him, but he steps in and, literally, gets in Jensen's face.

“But I'll do what you want 'cuz the ball is back in your court. I promised myself I'd give over as much control to you as possible. I may not like it or be used to this, but I can't help thinking you're going to be worth it. I don't know how I know this fact, but I do.”

“I did warn you I'd be weird.”

“Yes, you did, but I strangely find it makes me like you more. That you'd be so devoted to one person. That you'd respect them to such an extent that you'd give up your entire life for them. I may not understand the affections you do hold for her—your stepmother—but I respect you enough that you'd know what's best to do in this situation.” Jared backs up to step down between the bumpers of two cars.

“Wait! What are you doing?”

“Finding us a cab. It's time to call it a night.”

“You don't have a car?”

“I do, but I try not to drive it to work every day—no more than 3 times a week. Rest of the time, I use the bus or the train. Sometimes I'll splurge on a cab.” Jared notices Jensen at the curb edge with his head down. “ _Hey-hey-hey_ , wha's wrong?”

“I did it again. I ruined the moment by jumping too far ahead. You've made it perfectly clear your intentions and I...sooo suck at this 'date'-thing really badly. I tried to push you away before you even got close.”

“Look, it's okay. I deal with this uphill battle at work all day, throughout the week. I can manage.”

“But you shouldn't have to face it outside of work. Is there a way I can take all that bullshit back and start over?”

“I like that 'bullshit'. You're honest and real with me. It's fuckin' refreshing.”

A cab driver eventually sees Jared's signal, pulling over to stop at the free curb.

Jared moves quickly back onto the sidewalk to head over to grab the door before Jensen can reach it. “C'mon, since you paid for dinner, I'll get the cab ride.” He hangs off the open door, raising both eyebrows as he sees Jensen hesitate in each step toward him. “—c'mon, git in here before we both freeze our balls off.”

Jensen smirks, climbing in and sliding over the bench-seat to tuck himself in the far right corner. He puts his arm up on the car door's ledge, staring out and up into the night sky.

The cab driver looks over his shoulder. “Where to?”

“Jensen?” Jared allows Jensen to say his address to the cab driver, since they'll drop him off first.

“uhm...1534 Crescent Pier at The Hiatt Ridge.”

The cab driver jerks on the timer lever to start the red LCD number to moving. “Back-roads or straight-shoot?”

Jensen doesn't know why, but he opens his mouth to say, “Whichever way is longest. I'm not in a hurry.” He hopes neither is Jared, since he's paying for the ride—maybe.

Jared calmly settles back on the left side of the bench-seat cushion. He's trying to fold his legs to the side so he doesn't crowd Jensen. Jensen is still safe in his corner, but he's slouched and his legs are cockeyed and the knees are stuck tight together. He can't be comfortable.

The cab driver peers into his rear-view mirror, “Am I droppin' both of you off?”

Jared clears his throat, sitting forward, elbows on his knees as he drapes his forearms and hands in between his legs. “No, man. Just him.” He stays right where he moved for a little longer.

“Okay.” The cab driver goes back to concentrating on the road as he hits his 2-way radio for traffic chatter, then boosts his GPS signal to avoid some random construction congestion going on late at night.

Jared takes a moment to slowly sit backward, glancing over at Jensen, who is now curled and huddled under his suit jacket, using it like a blanket. He leans forward to tap on the plastic barrier. “Can you turn up the heater a little?” When he returns to sitting back, he extends his right arm along the upper cushion of the bench-seat.

Jensen has begun to sit upright and is trying to get a bit more comfortable for the long ride. When he finally settles against the cushion, he feels Jared's bulky arm along his shoulders, and promptly shivers. Jared pushes lightly on Jensen's right shoulder joint.

“Tuck yourself into me. I'm as good as a heater at times.”

No joke. The closer Jensen shuffles over the more intense the body heat radiates, until he almost doesn't need the jacket—just to cover his forearms. He's trying not to lean too heavily on Jared or fit his head in that perfect niche of shoulder to neck that looks so inviting. For now, he'll let his head roll around on Jared's arm. Driving over bumps along the road, the motions jar them both to knock bodies, mainly around the hips, thighs and knees. Jensen finds a way to anchor himself if he tucks his leg under Jared's right, then hooks his foot to settle on top of Jared's shoe. He hears Jared sniffle out a laugh, then tightens his arm about Jensen's shoulders.

Jared can see the way Jensen's blinking slowly, the cab ride might be jarring but it's the warmth and quiet that makes him shut down and want to sleep. He's watched Jensen startle awake twice now. “It's okay, Jen. Close your eyes and rest awhile. I'm here, and wide awake. You'll be home in no time.”

Jensen wants to protest, because he's really not ready to say goodbye to Jared just yet. Lucky for him, Jared feels much the same.

==&&==&&==

Jared waits until the taxi comes to a complete stop before he wakes Jensen. Though he has been wanting to wrap his arm around the warm pliable body, Jared manages to hold back temptation to never cross the line unless Jensen is fully cognizant. Jensen was the one who tucked closer, the one who kept finding a perfect niche for his head in the curl of Jared's arm. Jared cut Jensen a ton of slack since every advancing move was done during sleep.

In dreams and fantasies, Jared bets Jensen never denies himself any pleasures of the flesh. He nearly rolls his eyes in the back of his head as the cab has to turn to the left and climb slightly up the long driveway; it sends Jensen falling over Jared's lap: hot spurts of breath on his neck, loose limbs draping over his torso and the long, thick legs tangling even more with his own.

Jared distracts himself by looking out the windshield, then his own passenger window at the extravagant mansion that is the Ackles' estate. Jared lets his arm give a small squeeze to Jensen; his mind flows into this sad idea of Jensen been like a little lost prince amongst the opulence. It doesn't “fit” his persona. Jensen is too humble to actually be snobbish or be remotely high-society. Jared taps his thumb on Jensen's biceps, his thumbnail scraping subtly down the bare skin under the shirt cuff.

Jensen makes a noise under breath, blinking his eyes open as he watches Jared take his arm back, turn his body and, once the cab goes into “park”, he opens the door to slide on out. Jensen isn't fully awake and he notices he's slumped in the bench-seat like he's been laying on Jared. He rubs at his eyes, keeping the suit jacket around half of his body to ward off a chill. He climbs out, standing in the opening of the cab door.

“Is this it? We both go home—our separate ways?”

“It doesn't have to end here if you don't want it to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want me to stay or do you want me to go?”

“Stay.” It's the first answer Jensen knows is from the heart and one he won't change in the next few hours.

Jared has to chuckle at Jensen forceful tone. “well, you could invite me in.”

“What would we do?”

“You have a bedroom?”

“I do.”

“We can spend some time there—in private. Or not.” Jared quickly corrects himself when he sees Jensen dip his head with flushed cheeks. “This house behind me looks huge. We could find somewhere to be alone—together.”

“I don't like it.” Jensen makes a face as he lifts his head, looking over Jared's shoulder at the house behind him. “I've never liked it. It's why I stick mostly to the back of the house.”

Jared motions for Jensen to move out of the way. “Let's send this guy on his way. No sense in keeping him here if we can't decide.” He shuts the door, then bends low into the driver's window. He pockets the cab company's card, then hands over the rolled bills with a generous tip added. “Thanks, man.” Jared gently knocks on the roof of the taxi. Tucking hands inside his pockets, he backs off to watch the cab drive off. He swivels his head to look at Jensen. “Please don't change your mind in the next 10 minutes or I'll really feel like an idiot.”

“I promise.” Jensen smiles broadly, making a move to step closer until he lifts his head to see down the rest of the semi-circular driveway. “You can stay an hour. We'll just be in my room and the kitchen.” He exhales a long, drawn-out sigh.

Jared trails the eye-line noticing the line of cars in the driveway. “Some kind of party going on inside?”

“You could say that. It's a card game. My stepmother and some of her friends from the neighborhood.”

“She do this every night?”

“Often enough.” Jensen clears his throat, tugging on Jared's clothes. “Come on...I have my own entrance. Maybe she won't notice I'm here.”

Jared doubts that; his experience with step-parents, and even parents, like Ella was that they tended to remain focused on their victim. Especially when they try to break away to show any type of independence, seeing a chance at freedom. Nah, she has probably been peeking through every curtained window, from eight o'clock on, hoping to spot Jensen coming home. This card game is only a rouse to prove to Jensen Ella didn't care where he had been, when she actually carried too much.

He follows behind Jensen, stunned that Jensen felt most comfortable entering his family's home through the huge garage. It looks as if this portion of the mansion was added on at a later time, when it was decided that Elias would move in as if to give him a sense of privacy as he lived here before/after his stroke. What Jared hates most is that Jensen appears ecstatic Jared's here in the hopes they can escape the clutches of his stepmother and enjoy the rest of their “date”-night together.

Jensen points Jared in the direction of his bedroom, which is just off the laundry/mud room down a long, thin corridor. He hands Jared his suit jacket, making a silent hand motion he's going into the kitchen to get drinks—possibly meaning beer.

Jared hangs out in the hallway, letting everything wash over him. He wants to bundle Jensen in his arms and run away with him. Someone has taught Jensen that he's been born a bad seed so he has to live below his birthright to serve as a constant punishment for his sins. Jared's afraid to step into Jensen's bedroom because he knows he'll be more pissed off.

It takes no more than four-n-a-half minutes before Ella calls out for Jensen, bellowing in a ridiculous yelp from another room.

 _“_ _Jenny! Is that you?”_

Jared closes his eyes, throwing his head back on the wall as he knows Ella's going to milk her role of “concerned mother” to the hilt, not only for Jensen but for her card-playing friends as well.

In no more than a minute or so, Jensen responds as he comes back to the hallway to give Jared their bottles of beer. _“Yes, Mama!”_ He wipes the condensation off on his Khakis, then he glances at Jared. “—give me a minute. I'll go see if she needs anything...”

Jared can't bear to look at Jensen. “Don't go.”

“What?!” Jensen snaps his head around.

“I said—Don't. Go.” Jared's not sure he can make it any clearer.

 _“_ _JENNY-dear...could you make us some refreshments!?!”_ There's an enormous pause. _“—pretty please, sweetie!!”_

“Jen...don't...” Jared doesn't want to resort to begging, but he'll think about it.

“I gotta go...or she won't quit.”

“You're not her servant.”

“—please...don't do this. Not now.” Jensen hurries back down the hall, heading into the kitchen.

Jared sighs, shaking his head. If Jensen refused to recall he had been dead-tired only mere minutes ago in their taxi, he's not going to watch Jensen suffer this torture alone. With some reluctance, he enters Jensen's bedroom to drop off their beers and to undress to a layer of clothes that seem casual, but yet could still make an impression.

The bedroom isn't as bad as he thought. It's spacious and clean. The furniture is a bit dated, but Jensen has made the space his own. The bathroom is really small, but for a bachelor, it's everything he needs. The whole space is similar to a very tiny apartment; its living space self-contained in one area. Rolling up his cuffs, Jared unbuttons his button-down to let the sides drape over his deep V-neck t-shirt, then loosens to take off his tie. He un-does his leather belt and slips out of his expensive loafers. He moves to Jensen's dresser to find extra-large socks he can trade his silk-blend ones for. He heads into the bath to look over Jensen's hair products near the sink. He wets his head, then finger-combs back the dark locks with pomade so his face is free of loose tendrils and fly-away strands.

When he's satisfied he looks presentable and calm, Jared strides out of the bedroom, back down the hallway to turn toward the kitchen. He's standing in the epicenter of a cooking hurricane, not to mention the middle island is now littered with every bottle of alcohol hidden in the house. Jensen must've known what each of Ella's friends favorite drinks. Jared can hear the loud laughter and boisterous chattering. He follows the sounds as they echo toward him.

What he walks in on is something Eli warned him about, and the one thing he feared being true the more he got to know Jensen...Ella was monopolizing Jensen's time in a very peculiar way. She had him perched on the arm of her chair, like she was displaying a fine porcelain doll.

Jensen had taken off his green Polo shirt, because of overheating; he was now in a stark white tank-t along with his loose Khakis. Ella was soothing her hand up and down Jensen's elongated arm, over biceps and forearm, almost pleading with her friends to find her “son” beautiful and pleasing to the female eye. To be gawked at and poked...made to feel like a cheap whore on the selling block.

Jared's stunned when Jensen sits there quietly, taking it all in with a certain stride. The wandering hands, the inappropriate groping in company, the public awkwardness of strangers familiar. Jared can't take much more of this for Jensen, even if Jensen's grown numb and cold to the treatment.

“JEN!”

Five heads swivel toward Jared as he pops out from behind the right side of the archway from the kitchen into the smoky dining room.

Jensen quickly stands, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He crosses an arm over his chest, to hook his fingers over a shoulder, like he's trying to hide his semi-nakedness. “Jared, I—” He had hoped Jared would stay in the kitchen or his bedroom.

“Who's this, Jenny?” Ella tries to peer around Jensen's body. She ends up having to shove him rudely out of the way. “Who are you, _boy_?” She doesn't have her bifocals handy, so she squints toward the blurry vision that seems to have taken root in her entryway. One thing that she doesn't like is the way Jensen gravitates toward the stranger, as if he wants to be with him over her own company.

Jared can already see fear, hear it laced in Ella's crass tone. “Jensen...can I see _you_ in the kitchen?” He gives a small smile to the other ladies around the table, who seem to be staring between Jared and Jensen, no longer interested in Ella and Jensen.

“yeah-yeah...I'll be...”

“You know how I feel about friends here late at night, Jenny...an' certainly no 'male' friends.” Ella meant that as a direct slight to Jared, which he took in stride, ignoring her meanness without really knowing who he was.

Jensen was already half-way out of the room, but he turned to look toward the other ladies at the table. “Is there anything else I can get anybody?”

 _“_   
_Nope.”_

 _“_   
_Nah, I'm good, Jensen. Thanks.”_

 _“_   
_Yes, thanks, hon'. I may need a refill late, unless my water pill kicks in.”_

Ella sends a death glare toward Jared and being eerily quiet, contemplative, as she narrows her eyes on them both.

Jared backs into the kitchen, taking one of the breakfast stools hard on his bottom. Jensen trails behind him, standing in the middle of the floor with an arm still over his chest, like he's chilled. All Jared can do is stare at Jensen, looking at the bare skin and how flushed Jensen is, not to mention how much he's apparently shaking. “Jen...” He's at a loss for words.

“I never meant for you to see _that_. I—” Jensen bows his head in shame. He's never been able to explain how uncomfortable these moments make him and Jared just witnessed one first-hand. And Jared won't say anything, but he keeps staring—doing that “ogling” thing he jokes about. “—'m'sorry.”

“—come here...” Jared's moving to stand.

“I can explain...”

“No...jus', please...come here...” Jared starts to take off his button-down shirt. He doesn't touch Jensen as he nears, just swings the material around so he can get Jensen to slide his arms through the large sleeves. He can't stand seeing Jensen shivering in a warm house, it's got to be nerves or a feeling that's been long-buried beneath that shyness. Jared shuffles over to lean back on the island counter, smoothing down the shirt over Jensen's body; he looks like a little boy, swimming in his daddy's clothes. Both of their hands go to fix the collar around Jensen's neck; they both pause and slow down their motions, but decide to break apart. Jared looms over Jensen's head, watching it do the usual bow of chin to chest. “I'm making you a solid promise, right now, that I'm on your side through all of this.” His hand makes a wide gesture in the air. “You're not gonna have to be alone anymore.”

Jensen lets out a forced breath, averting his head in shame. “I'm so fuckin' tired, Jared.”

“I know, man.” Jared groans out in kind. “I know you are.” He wants to touch—caress, wishing Jensen would make a move first so he can do so without feeling guilty. He chooses to lay on his hands at his backside. “It's been a long time holding it in, a lot to bear on your own.” Jared shakes his head, looking off to the right. “I feel like an utter chump for how I've been...making jokes 'bout 'checking you out'—ogling you like you were some fresh piece of meat.” He turns back to dip low to get Jensen to connect eyes with him. “Please tell me I don't make you feel _this_ way...?” He brings up one hand to run the tips of his fingers under an arm, starting from the biceps at the arm-pit. “Like _they_ do...like _Ella_ does?”

“no-no—jesus, it's not even close. I'm jus'...it's the only affection I received for the longest time, the only emotions I was allowed to feel.” Jensen goes quiet and swallows nervously. “I'm starting to feel sick all over again.” He's huddling into his body, his arm hugging himself, but specifically surrounding his stomach. “It's like how it was at the beginning, until I jus' became numb to everything and stopped feeling altogether.”

All right, Jared gives in this once. Jensen's too raw and emotionally split-open to leave him hanging. He palms the side of Jensen's head, fingers sifting through the shorn strands of blonds and light browns. It's what he's willing to offer without Jensen’s permission. “After tonight, I'll give you the space you need.” He smiles quick when Jensen finally lifts his head to lock gazes. “—however long it takes, Jen. But I'm not going anywhere.” Jared's hand lowers to clamp over the right shoulder. “I'll always be here when you need me. This won't ever be too difficult for me to handle.”

Jensen does release a smile, but it vanishes a little. “I'm not one of your clients. An' I'm not some charity case.” He wants those things known right this minute. He's not going to stick around for Jared's pity for him.

“I never thought you were. Though you do have a lot of similarities to them, except being a _man_. A mature, single gay man who I happen to like an' want to get to know better.” Jared shakes Jensen under the grip of his shoulder bone. “Will you allow me to come in?”

Jensen looks down at the hand being held out to him, palm up, to take. He's never had anyone ask before; it's refreshing. He knows the type of man Jared is, so to see and hear him take steps backward in order to move forward with him...Jensen's in awe and deep respect. He grabs for Jared's hand, twining their fingers. They do a weird handshake, Jensen bringing their bond to his chest, near his heart, like he's hugging Jared.

“Okay, then...” Jared looks over his shoulder then around the packed and dirty counter-space surrounding them. “—looks like we have our work cut out for us here. Where should we start?”

==&&==&&==

Their tasks in the kitchen are over by ten o'clock. Lucky for them, the card game is still going strong—the four ladies soused into their chairs permanently and getting soured about winning their money back from their host.

Jensen hasn't laughed so hard in all his life, while he works with Jared. It's strange how Jared knows his every move, even before Jensen completes it. They work together like they've known one another for years. Jared talks about his family, sharing stories to bring a smile to Jensen's face. And it isn't too long before Jared's starting to be playful and rowdy with Jensen, making him fight back and tease in response. Jensen doesn't know how Jared does it, but he never touches Jensen, yet still Jensen feels like he's about to quake out of his skin. Jared freakishly tall, so when he wanders around the kitchen, able to reach tall cabinets or bending low Jensen finds he's staring at Jared—-ogling him. It's a heady rush to have the kind of generous help Jared offers. He knows exactly what to do, but also he's willing to be told what to do, if he doesn't know. Jensen's never enjoyed a chore more, and he wishes they were really alone in the house. He doesn't know what he'd do with Jared, but they'd have the entire night to themselves, plus this huge house to explore.

It obvious that at a certain point, Jensen is becoming drowsy on his feet. Jared promptly gets him to sit down on one of the stools, then proceeds to take over finishing drying off the counters, putting away the last of the dishes. Jensen doesn't need to be told twice to “come to bed”, though the way Jared holds out his hand for Jensen to jump down from the stool is a good start.

They shut down the lights to low in the huge chef's kitchen, then made their way back to Jensen's bedroom.

Jared sits at the end of Jensen's bed, watching Jensen shift around the room to collect his sleep clothes. He lifts one curious eyebrow. “Am I gonna feel over or under dressed in bed?”

It's been decided that Jared'll spend the night. Jensen's not willing to let Jared go home yet, and Jared's not willing to leave Jensen alone with Ella. He wants to live up to his promise that Jensen's doesn't have to live in fear or think that he has to go numb to be with his stepmother, letting her do whatever she felt she was allowed to do to him.

Holding his pile of clothes to his chest, Jensen slips off his watch and takes out his wallet and keys. “I have clothes you can wear, if that's your thing. Somehow...” He quirks up one end of his mouth. “—I doubt you're a guy who sleeps in what he wore for the day.”

“If I'm with someone, I'm naked. I just works better that way.” Jared loves that Jensen chuckles along with his laughter. “But if I'm alone, which I sometimes am, then it's boxers. Maybe a t-shirt like this, if I'm cold.”

“I'm gonna change.” Jensen is backing slowly into his bathroom. “Do what makes you feel most comfortable—an' I'll try to adapt.” He gives off a small smile as he shuts the door for privacy.

Jared shakes his head as he works at taking off the cotton socks he borrowed from Jensen, then stands to unzip, then unhook his suit trousers off and down his legs. He sits to pull the bottom cuffs off his ankles and then proceeds to fold the material to drape along with his suit jacket and his button-down shirt. Now he stands in his tight boxer briefs and the deep V-neck t-shirt feeling a little better, and knowing Jensen won't freak out about him showing a bit of bare skin. Jared can tell by looking at the mattress that Jensen prefers the left side of the bed, which is cool because Jared is more of a center-of-the-bed sleeper and he generally conforms to his bed partner's likes.

He climbs onto the mattress, settling himself quite perfectly on the right side, shifting the pillows to his back so he can rest slightly upright to relax on the headboard. Jared can't even remember the last time he just _slept_ in a bed with another man. It could've been in college with one of his straight friends—like Chad or Milo...or Tommy, even Michael. He draws up his left knee to bend, resting his arm on the kneecap. Jared can hear noises in the bathroom, telling him Jensen is diligent about preparing for bed—right down to brushing his teeth, gargling loudly.

Jared startles when the door opens, the overhead light shutting off and Jensen wanders out as if they were a normal couple preparing for bed. Jensen is about to round his bed frame, but then he barrels back to head to the door and sets the lock; he's not taking any chances that Ella won't try to barge in on his privacy.

Jared has bent his right arm behind his head, resting his left hand on his chest, pulling at the t-shirt material. “Does that need to be done often?”

Jensen furrows his brow as he walks over to sit on the side of he bed. “What?”

“Locking your door.”

“uh, no-no.” Jensen figures Jared's a tad concerned about just how far his stepmother has taken things. He draws up his left leg, bending the knee to turn toward Jared. “She's never sexually abused me. I've never considered what she does molestation, but...my reactions and how I've become as a person certainly give off the vibe that she's done me greater harm.”

“She _has_ , Jen.” Jared extends out an arm, letting his fingertips graze over Jensen's knee. “It's 'abuse' no matter how you try to change the colors or make it right in your head for you to have let it happen.”

“I know.” Jensen bows his head in shame, and guilt. “I don't know how to get her to stop. I think if it came from me, she'd have some idea I was joking. Or worse, that I was teasing and I'd want her to take things, uh...further.”

Jared crosses his arms over his chest. “Has she ever outright offered herself to you? Or has she ever made any sexual advances as you've gotten older to let you know she would want to be that way with you?”

Jensen shakes his head. “I'm assuming at this point she's giving up. Now, it's like it's her own crusade to keep my purity intact.”

Jared feels his jaw go slack. “You're a virgin?” Jesus, he truly didn't expect this fact to come to light, but he supposes it's best before it became an awkward topic of conversation for them.

Jensen starts to genuinely blush now. He gets off the bed, throws back the covers to crawl under them and bury himself in hibernation. “—jus'...kill me now...”

Jared starts to snicker as he watches Jensen burrow under the layers of blankets and covers. He can feel one of Jensen's arms settle under his body. “Dude...whoa!” He realizes he's going to have to pull back the covers under him or suffer some fierce consequences of possibly ending up on the floor. Jensen's arm has made it under his array of pillows along the headboard as he rests on his stomach, face-down, head turned away. “awww, Jensen...” Jared lays on his left side, placing the covers right at his hip level. “—I think it's cool. Wish I had something that precious to give to someone.”

With the hued lighting from both bedside lamps, Jensen looks up at Jared from his hidey-hole under pillows and covers. “I'm a little embarrassed; I don't even know what it's like to be with a woman. I'm the worst kind of virgin.”

Jared chuckles then slinks down in the bed, tucking pillows under his head as he faces Jensen. “I know you think it means something's wrong with you, but—for someone like me...be glad you've waited this long. At least now when you fall in love, start to have sex for the first time, you'll be more mature and possibly won't make the childish mistakes young people do with their hearts.”

Jensen lifts his head up and lets a pillow fall so he can rest his head on its shape. He lets his left hand, the one that had nearly up-ended Jared, extend across the mattress again, almost reaching Jared's arms and body. “I've never even done _this_ with another person.”

“ _This?_ You mean...platonically sleeping with another person?”

“Yeah.” Jensen tucks his right hand under the pillow. He starts drumming his fingers on the mattress.

Jared starts to smile with a certain giddiness. “So I'm, like...you're _first_?” He's hunkering down at the same level as Jensen is laying, so they can connect gazes across the way. He clears his throat to reiterate. “Your first sleepover, I mean.” He's already laughing before Jensen can softly shove him and then laugh in his own way. Jared thinks he's never seen or heard anything so beautiful.

Jensen groans as he rolls over to lay on his back. He's dislodged himself from being solely on the left side of the bed; now he's more in the center, almost crowding Jared's side. Jared takes a few minutes to stare at Jensen, without any distraction, as Jensen shuts his lids and looks as if he's about to fall asleep. Jensen makes noises under his throat, like he's restless and trying to find a perfect position to fall asleep in.

Jared's chuckling softly, watching Jensen fidget around in bed. “You okay, man?”

Jensen pulls the covers up to his neck, then rolls onto his right side, facing Jared. He's laying lower on the mattress. “—mmm, yeah...I think I am.” His hands are hidden under the covers, but he still tries to scratch at his nose and rub his face.

Jared is utterly enraptured by Jensen's gorgeous lashes, how they fan over the pale cheeks and point directly to some of the freckles that stand-out against the bare skin. He's got future plans for the freckles, plans he thinks Jensen might actually like. For now, he'll gaze longingly at them and come up with new plans to see if they'll work any better until the exact moment he needs them. He bends his left arm and tucks it under his head.

“ _—come here..._ ”

“huh?” Jared can barely hear the words, but who else would've said them.

Jensen lifts his head so his eyes and part of his nose can be seen. “ _—come here...meet me in the center._ ”

Jared can't believe how playful Jensen is being. It's freaking adorable, and it's becoming a bit of a turn-on. He stretches his left arm outward, then shifts his hips and lower limbs to invade the other half of the center. He's laying higher on the bed than Jensen, so when their bodies touch and merge, Jensen just head butts Jared mid-chest, like his going to burrow quite nicely against his body.

“—'night.” And with that, Jensen shuts his eyes for good and he's out like a light.

“jesus christ.” Jared buries his face in the top of Jensen's head. He lets his left arm lower more so he can protect the top of Jensen's head and his other arm comes around to simply settle on Jensen's body, beneath covers, but he doesn't tighten it around the frame. He's still wary of taking advantage while Jensen sleeps. He does feel better about tangling their legs, only because it's the only way to be comfortable with both of their long limbs.

Jared's used to his bed partners falling asleep on him, or at least falling to sleep in the aftermath of great sex. He's had a few cuddlers, but none he's ever wanted to cuddle back or never let go of. Not even ones he's in deep thought about minutes after they've conked out ahead of him.

==&&==&&==

It's not the position Jared wakes up in, which is odd because he's not a restless sleeper, nor is he someone who hogs the bed or the covers. He actually will tend to turn his back and try not to have to look at the other man the next morning. Of course, that's how he wakes up: on his right side, back facing Jensen and Jared seems to be hugging the edge of the bed, but not falling off.

He shuffles backward, testing exactly what his situation is and he instantly feels the heavy weight on his back. Rising a bit on an elbow, he peers over his shoulder to find a familiar blond-brown head buried in his back, with a body conformed to his own. Jared pushes his ass out to find that Jensen's groin perfectly shapes the curves, and he hears an actual groan in sleep from Jensen. Jared smiles to himself in secret, simply because this means half his battle is won with winning over Jensen, if somewhere in his subconscious awaits something to do with Jared. Even if it rides on hope alone, at least Jensen doesn't limit himself in dreams or while sleeping.

Jared needs to get up, because he knows the time is early enough where he's gone beyond the ridiculous hour he likes to arrive at work. Now he's right at the regular hour of work, so he won't be late or anything. He needs to leave now or he really will be late. It'll be the first time, but he doesn't want to start any stirrings of suspicion with any of his co-workers. Katie was right about one thing; he really does want to keep Jensen to him himself for a bit.

He doesn't know how he did it, but he worked himself from under Jensen's weight, which truly wasn't all that heavy. Jared sits on the side of the bed, rubbing over his face to wake up. He stands to pick up his clothing, then settles down in the chair to start dressing in his clothes from the night before. He uses Jensen's bathroom to pee and then washes his face and hands. He doesn't stink, but he sure doesn't smell fresh. He contemplates whether he should return to his apartment or go directly to work and find time at lunch to return to his home to shower and put on cleaner clothes.

Jared already knows he's not leaving immediately, so he wanders out of the bedroom, down the hall and enters the kitchen. He knows exactly where the coffee is and how to work the coffee pot. Jared even knows where the English muffins and the condiments are. There's enough food here that goes to waste, so he knows it won't be missed. As the coffee percolates, he steps to the fridge and hears the _slip-slip_ of soft house-shoes on the hardwood floors.

Now Jared is coming face-to-face with Ella Ackles.

Nice. This is exactly how he wanted his morning to pan out.

But...Jared's not going to let an opportune moment like this pass him by. “I've made coffee. It'll be ready soon. I could pop more muffins in...unless you want something else.”

Ella is standing there, in her usual lengthy silk robe. It's not open, but closed rather tightly and she's standing there with arms crossed. “Jenny makes me breakfast.”

Jared raises one curious eyebrow. “He won't be making it for you today, I'm afraid. You might want to figure out a new routine.” Little does she know what's about to change. “Speaking of Jensen...and I mean _Jen-sen_...I think you an' I need to have a little heart-to-heart.”

Ella wrinkles her brow in confusion. “I still have no idea who you are...to Jenn—Jensen...to me...”

Lifting his head high, Jared goes to a cabinet, pulls down two coffee mugs. He brings over the carafe, then pours out coffee in both cups. “Well, I'm Jared. And I'm about to take your place in your stepson's life. Or... let me say this...” He slides the mug over in her direction; he doesn’t care if she picks it up or not. “—I'm about to become an important person in Jensen's life...an' I'm not budgin'. No matter what you say or try to do.”

“Isn't that up to Jenn—Jensen?”

“Ma'am...I've already made headway where you can never touch him.” Jared takes a bite of his English muffin, while lifting up the mug to his lips. “I dare you to try to take me away from him.”

Ella's not sure exactly how she should take that kind of tone with those words said. She's used to Jensen's passiveness, not this aggressive dominance where she's being told what WILL happen, where she has no say whatsoever.

She also doesn't like the fact that this young man—younger than Jensen—walks around her kitchen like he lives here. If she were truthful to herself, it scares her to death.

==&&==&&==

Jensen wakes up hugging the pillow Jared had slept on. It's weird for him because he's all over the bed, when he's usually on one side, with his arms so stiff and tight. He rises to his elbows, afraid he slept through his alarm. When he twists and turns to look around the room, he realizes he's awake before the alarm sounded.

As he gradually sits upright, he notices that there's a coffee mug and some toast on his nightstand. A hastily written note is underneath the saucer. _“Sleep in, Jen. I made you breakfast. Your step mother left early this morning. Your morning is free to do whatever you feel like.”_ Jensen breaks out into the widest, happiest smile, unable to not feel pure bliss. He only spends a few seconds wondering what Jared did to get Ella off his back. _“Whenever you call, you can 'thank me' then. Yours, J._ _Tristan_ _Padalecki”_

Jensen lets his fingers play over the dried black ink. Now he knows Jared's full name, and he feels his heart flutter like it does when he catches that first sight of Jared. Or when Jared's close enough to touch him. He settles back against the pillows and picks up the plate of toast and hooks a finger around the mug's handle. If he wasn't falling in love with Jared already, he knows he'd begin right about now.

He can't recall the last time he's had a leisurely morning to himself. He'll have to remember to “thank” Jared for that special gift, as well.

==&&==&&==

It's Margo's birthday and there was no way Jensen was going to miss celebrating this special day with his best friend. It's at a local bar and grille and it seems like every employee from the store is there. Some are stunned to see Jensen, especially since none have seen him in much else but the bookstore's uniform.

He's in jeans, they hug his legs rather tightly and the denim material looks crisp and snug. He's wearing half-calf boots that buckle off to the side and there are two layers of Henleys over his slim torso: one a long quarter-sleeve, then an even longer-sleeved one that he's rolled up to his elbows.

When he arrives, a little bit before everyone else, he offers to pay for the first round of drinks. They take him up on his graciousness and he wanders over to the bar while it's still sparsely crowded. He places the order and waits for the bartender to fill the tray that had been centered on the bar. While Jensen is standing there, the bar begins to fill with more patrons; he's getting a little antsy when bodies stand nearby and they try to brush past him accidentally. Jensen tries to breathe through his nostrils, turning his head and attempting to focus on something in the distance.

He finds it— _him_ , actually—immediately. There's no mistaking it—Jared is here. What kind of lucky odds does the world give for an opportunity like that? A random bar, on a random night and neither of them had talked in days. Jared is oblivious, which is understandable—the bar is crowded and Jensen is hard to notice in the sea of faces in the dark fog of poor bar lighting. Jensen doesn't expect to be discovered until he's up in Jared's face. The bartender sends a waitress along with Jensen to carry the tray of drinks to their tables, then splits the drinks to distribute them, taking new orders on her way out.

Jensen settles near Margo, who's leaning back with a birthday girl crown on her head and a noisemaker sticking out of the side of her mouth like a cigar. He leans his shoulder into Margo's side. “You'll never guess who's here.” He can't help it, he smiles like a loon.

In the last three days, he's talked non-stop to Margo about that night with Jared, then the promise Jared made and eventually about how life just meddled enough to keep Jared busy and Jensen unable to switch his shifts so they could meet later in the week. Until now.

Margo can tell by Jensen's blush and that interesting smile...it's his _someone_ special. “I'd guess but I want you to keep your money so you can buy us more rounds of drink.” She's never been a betting person.

“Should I be—I don't know. I feel excited—giddy, almost—that he's here.” It's a hard feeling for Jensen to explain out loud because he doesn't have anything to compare it to. Everything, every feeling and emotion, is new with Jared.

“Tha's a good sign. It's 'bout time you went an' got your man.”

“He's not— _anything_ to me. And he's not mine.” Jensen doesn't want to “possess” Jared like Mama Ella had taken over his life. But he does love the idea of being able to think of Jared as his alone, no one else's.

“But you want him to mean a great deal to you, sweetie, tha's the thing. It's not a sin to want that for yourself. An' not when the other person wants you back just as much.”

“He's openly admitted to me that he flirts—he's been predominantly promiscuous.”

“An'— _what_? He can't change? For you?”

“He's here, but it looks like he's with a young woman.”

“Jensen, I love you like a son some days, but...sometimes...I feel like smackin' you upside the head.” Margo takes out the noisemaker. “Just 'cuz he's here with her doesn't mean they're boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“I know. It makes sense. It's what I do to protect myself from being hurt. I reject myself in my head before they can hurt me.”

“Well, you need to quit that, because it's exactly why you're still single at 34.”

“32.”

“Like it makes a difference.”

“Would you hate me if I—?” Jensen gestured with his head to the back of the bar, where Jared had disappeared to with the young woman.

“Jensen, if you don't get up off your fine ass and go find that man, I'm gonna cause a scene, then you'll really have a reason to blush as much as you do.”

“All right-all right...I'm going.” Before he truly leaves, Jensen bends down to press a chaste kiss to Margo's cheek. “Happy birthday, Margo.”

The entirety of several tables surrounding the birthday girl stare on in earnest shock and stunned quiet.

 _“_ _—whoa!”_

 _“_ _Did you see that?”_

 _“_ _It's, like, a Christmas miracle.”_

 _“_ _Did Jen just kiss you, Margo?”_

Immediately, Margo's in “protective mama bear” mode. “Yeah! So what if he did?! Now leave it alone an' get back to enjoying those free drinks he just splurged on you.” She waits a spell before turning to look over her shoulder, through the wooden slats to see if she can find Jensen, or at least, spot Jared's position in the bar.

==&&==&&==

Jensen is about to burst through the crowd, toward the backroom where he thinks Jared and the young woman disappeared to. Right then, a loud yelp comes from a distant table and a younger blond man stands on his chair, calling out.

 _“Hey! J-rod?!”_

Jensen's head swivels to catch Jared at the bar, itself.

 _“Yo, Chad!”_ Jared's screeching back, facing forward to the bartender, or the waitress who had served them earlier.

 _“Three beers, not four!”_

 _“Got it!”_ Jared leans over the counter to change the order he's just placed.

Jensen sees this moment as a great opportunity to speak to Jared before he heads back to the rowdy table. Jared doesn't see him until he's almost pressed against the side of his body. Someone bumps into Jared and—out of habit—Jared's reaching out to steady whomever he's about to collide with.

“God, 'm sorry. This place can become a madhou—” Jared stares down to find those beautiful green eyes blinking up at him. “oh, wow...” He hopes he never gets over being struck speechless by the way those eyes can see directly into him. Such a difference from only days ago when they wouldn't even look up from the ground. “Talk about a small world.” He exchanges money and pockets the change.

“Or fate.” Jensen breathes out on a whisper.

“Really?” Jared squints at Jensen, beginning to hoard the three beers in his hands. “You believe in that stuff?”

“Now I do.” Jensen mouth breaks out in a huge grin.

Again, Jared is struck speechless, with a tinge of dumb. “Look, uh...none of these beers are mine.” He clears his throat. “I lost a bet, so—yeah, let me deliver them an' I'll come back.” Jared swallows a bit nervously. “Wait for me here?”

“sure-sure” Jensen keeps nodding his head, liking the hopefulness he hears in Jared's voice, like he's the one who's nervous about them meeting after a few days apart. He tries not to watch Jared walk away, in case he doesn't come back. He shuffles closer to the bar, then props his hip against the low cabinetry.

Jared eagerly weaves through the patrons, balancing his own beer mug in his hands. Breathlessly, he lands right beside Jensen, then promptly gets jostled into shaping his body around Jensen like a protective shield. His crotch rubs Jensen's upper thigh as Jared holds onto the bar with both hands, hearing a slight scuffle behind them that's quickly squelched by the big bouncers barreling through the crowds. A round of solid “boo-s” follows the patrons getting thrown out; Jared watches them being dragged through the heavy door.

“Well...that was eventful.” Jared turns back to see Jensen is staring up at him, his back on the bar, hand behind him so Jared is now facing him, crotch to crotch. “Hi...” He smiles, then has to dip his head because those green eyes are killer intense—like they can see everything inside of him, good and bad.

“Hi...” Jensen smirks, bringing out a hand, palm out, to lay on Jared's chest. He's stunned by the heat radiating. Jared must've come directly from work, still in what was leftover from his suit: no jacket and cuffs rolled up to his elbows, unbuttoned, tie askew and looking as if he'd gone several rounds on a heavy bag. Jensen likes that disheveled bed-head look on Jared, with the bit of perspiration peeking out on bare skin that glistens in the poorly lit bar.

Jared feels his dick spring to life, finding it odd that simple touch and human connection can feel electric and thrilling from the surface of skin down-deep into his bones. It's like he can come from the pressure alone in an instant. He keeps thinking about that night, days ago, when all he did was sleep in Jensen's bed. It's the only image that's been sustaining him every day; work has been killing him lately.

They both are breathing quite deeply; Jared's eyes on Jensen's face, Jensen's eyes on his hand on Jared's body. Jensen feels pin-pricks behind his eyes, like smoke's irritating them. He brings up his other hand, and that's when the first tear falls.

“—m sorry.” Jensen is immensely ashamed, leaning his brow toward his hands still on Jared's chest.

Jared feels Jensen's initial touch was the “switch” that needed to be flipped, before Jared could ever return the touch. He surrounds his hands around Jensen's neck, bringing their foreheads together. “no, no, no, don't be—jesus...” Jared presses his lips to Jensen's brow, but doesn't kiss. “You have a past that needs undoing. I think—I _know_ I'm the man to help you through it. I must sound like a slut half the time, but I can be patient. For you, Jen, I'll be whatever you need me to be.” He smirks before he even gets the words out. “I'll even stay your hot gay best friend you don't fuck as long as I can be with you.”

It's too much for Jensen to ask of Jared, but the fact he's willingly offering himself makes it that much more poignant and real. “Why are _you_ the hot gay best friend?”

“mmm, yeah, right. You're older. First dibs.”

“I can't make any promises except what I feel in the moment. This might be all I can give until it starts to not feel like I'm doing something bad or terribly sinful.”

“Hey, I wasn't getting much at first. I'm happy with whatever you can give me.”

“I want to kiss you.” Green can't move from Jared's lips. How did he not notice those deep-groved dimples, and why was he tempted to lick the crevices?

Jared nudges Jensen's face with his nose, letting his skin brush against Jensen's. “I want that too.”

“I want to kiss you but I'm not sure what I'll want to do after that. What I'll be comfortable with.”

“Kissing's fine. All by itself. I'll take a single kiss over hands on my pecs.” Although Jared wants to negotiate for both to happen at once.

“How 'bout _this_?” Jensen hesitates in movement along Jared's torso as he lifts his hands to clamp down on Jared's bare forearms. He soothes up-n-down the naked skin, fingering dark hairs in the direction they flow. He feels his heart go erratic and his face turn hotter than fire.

Jared's finally learning what Jensen is doing. There has to be a distinction for Jensen between _good_ touching and _bad_ touching, then he has to take the space needed—from a confident, patient lover—to work through the caresses, catalog them in his senses and see if the moment will have to end. Or if he would be willing to take the situation one step further. Nothing can be demanded of Jensen; he has to want to give it freely of his own will and desire.

“Keep doing that. Don't stop because you think I want you to, because I don't.”

“This is tough. A lot harder than I thought it'd be. I'm getting better with, uh...speaking up and kind of letting myself be heard.” Jensen wants to tell Jared so badly how life at the house has shifted in his favor. But he'd rather not ruin the moment by bringing up his stepmother. “I've even been able to help a few customers on the floor at work. I still stammer and blush profusely, but at least I'm making the effort.”

“I like you.” Jared's able to watch Jensen watching his own hands caress over Jared's forearms. “I like everything about you. Even the not-so-pleasant parts. Goodness knows I've got my own flaws.”

Jensen lifts his eyes to Jared's face, then reaches up to caress a cheek. “All I can see is beauty and perfection.”

Jared closes his eyes, turning his face into Jensen's palm—the skin is ridiculously soft for a man's hand. “mmm, I need to hear that once-n-awhile. I can already tell we'll be good for one another's egos.”

Jensen skims his hand over the stubble, tracing the strong jawline with his thumbnail. “Let me know when this begins to bother you.”

“It won't.” Jared never knew his dimples were kind of a G-spot for him. “Not ever.”

Jensen leans a little closer to Jared, dropping his arms so he can place them around Jared’s torso. Tucking his face away, he speaks against the shirt material. “You can touch me—hug me back, if you want.”

So Jared does as requested, but he locks his arms around Jensen's neck and head, letting their bodies relax together and feel familiar. Jared dips his head, then softly apologies for the erection building. Jensen's shifts closer so his groin brushes Jared's, showing him how hard he's becoming as well. They softly chuckle in one another's ear, slowly easing backward to part as they discover where they still are—in a public bar. An extremely crowded and smoky public bar.

Jared lifts his hands, fingers curl and poise to brush over Jensen's red-hued cheeks. Jensen leans toward the hands, which is the permission Jared wants. Jensen holds the hands to his face, pressing his palm to the tops of Jared's. He's beginning to do that thing he did the other night, where he tucks his hand under Jared's, offering up himself in a submissive role. He moves his fingers in between Jared's to clue him in he wants to eventually gradually settle palm to palm, but for now he wants Jared to control the hand-holding. Jared tucks fingers between Jensen's, letting their arms dangle between their bodies, then his hand curls around to do exactly what Jensen wants, fingers entwined, skin of their palms meshed as one.

Jared snatches up his beer, then motions for Jensen to follow behind him. “C'mon...I want you to meet my co-workers, who are—to say the least—very eager to meet you.”

Jensen is a little confused by the statement, but once he walks up to the table with Jared he sees the dead stares and the gaping mouths in his direction. He hangs back a few inches behind Jared, hiding just over his right shoulder, using Jared for minor support in standing.

“Guys...I'd like you to meet...someone very special to me. Jensen—Eli's gran'son—Jensen Ackles.”

There are still stares, then some outward gasps, jaws shutting as everyone looks around the table at how each of them are reacting to the news.

Katie is the first one to stand, moving toward Jensen. “So...you're the elusive grandson that had our office buzzing for a few days.” She feels like crying, because she can see that this is what Jared's clients—those poor, defenseless children in fucked-up homes—will look like as mature adults. It's like she's beginning to understand just how extraordinary Jared is for the tireless work that he does.

Jensen's not sure what to make of that comment, but he can tell it unsettles everyone because it's quite open and forward, maybe rude if he takes it the wrong way. “I guess it's too late to claim I just don't age gracefully.”

It only takes one soft peel of laughter for the whole table to join in, for the awkward quiet to dissipate.

“Sweetie, I'm just really glad to see you...” Katie can honestly see that Jared has become quite the savior for Jensen, as Jensen starts to re-enter a bit of normalcy. “—an' see how happy you make Jared.”

Jensen conforms his body, mostly his arm glued to Jared's side, hands still melded together, into Jared's body—it's like he's trying to sink into him.

 _“_   
_Same here.”_

 _“_   
_Agreed.”_

 _“_   
_What they said...”_

Everyone moves over and makes room for Jensen to take a chair as Jared re-takes his seat.

As Jensen sits down, his chin bows to chest to see how fiercely Jared is still holding onto his hand; he keeps their bond on his lap, almost hugging it to his body under the table. Jared scoots his chair over so he can surround Jensen as new conversations pick up. Jared settles his arm over Jensen's chair back, his thumbnail occasionally brushing over Jensen's shoulder simply because it was near. Jensen sinks back, lifting his head with a smile as he listens closely to what's said. He can feel the vibrations of Jared's chest behind him as he talks and laughs, then he turns his head on a tilt to give Jared what people often nick-name “hearts-in-his-eyes” when he wants to stare at Jared longingly simply because he could, and he wanted to.

They hold hands the entire evening; if not holding hands, Jared lets his hand rest on Jensen's thigh, Jensen's hand over the top, fingers tracing and sculpting the finger-shapes to memory.

 **the end**


End file.
